To Come Home Again
by sweetiepie1019
Summary: Hermione has come home after three years gone. It doesn't take long to realize winning back those she left behind, including a crushed fiancee, is the least of her problems ... NEW CHAPTERS COMING SOON!
1. Chapter 1

AN: I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know why I'm writing this. Why the hell am I writing this?

Ok, I know why. But I'm not really altogether pleased with the answer.

You see, about a thousand people lately (or at least five, to my knowledge) have written about either Ron or Hermione disappearing for a large amount of time. Then they'd come back and have to learn how to pick up where they left off.

This sounded like a very interesting idea to me. However, all the fics, every one of them, had three glaring problems, in my opinion. First of all, everything was forgiven far too quickly. Second, the reason whoever it was that left had disappeared was never satisfactory. And, finally, the characters had not changed in their time apart in the least.

I tried to leave it alone. I truly did. The authors weren't bad or necessarily wrong for their interpretations. I could be too dramatic, or too critical, or too eager in my current flurry of Harry Potter fanfic writing. But I couldn't stop thinking that I could really have some fun with this original concept. And, finally, in the middle of writing the next chapter of one of my other HP fics (which there are already TWO of, because apparently I'm insane), I gave in. I brought up a new document and typed this up in about half an hour.

I shouldn't post it, I know. But I really, really, really like it. So be warned. I have two other fics in progress, plus another I'm about to pick up again. Sure, one of the fics is just about done and one of the others isn't too far behind it. But they have people already reading them, so they come first. In other words, if you like this, I'm not entirely sure how often I'll update it. Once or twice a week, I'd guess. Still, I really liked how this turned out, and I hope you do as well.

One other thing. This story is based on canon until the "nineteen years later" epilogue. However, I will keep things so that, until the near end, you won't know whether I will keep it so that the epilogue is still possible, or if I will write my own, AU, version. It'll be an interesting ride, I think. And – go!

Disclaimer: I'm totally broke. You just try to sue me. See what happens.

London had always been a place for mysteries and intrigue. Interesting people had walked it's streets for centuries. Legends were made and stories were created in this ancient capitol.

One such interesting person was sitting in an underground car, flying just below the city. Anyone in the car with her could tell you that she was important, though, being only Muggles, they couldn't have told you why. She didn't look overly important, to be honest. She was slight, with plain features and simple dress. In fact, there were only two things that were remarkable about her at all. The first was the bushy brown hair spewing from her head like a fountain gone berserk. The other was the look on her face as she stared out the window, her eyes ticking along with the passing lights. She had seen things, this girl. Things that normal people often never even imagine they'd see in their lifetimes.

If any of her friends had seen her, they would have said she looked a bit ... wrong. All her features were still hers, but played up, almost as if she was a caricature of herself than an actual person. Her hair was bigger than ever, and the brown now had interesting highlights that didn't look dyed yet were simply not natural. Her nose was longer than it had been before, her chin just a little more squared off, and her eyes a deeper color and wider set. She was thinner, but the angles suddenly fit her, as if she were a statue that someone had chipped away at to smooth the outline. None of the innocence she had held was there anymore. Instead, she looked like a natural born fighter.

Her companion, a slightly pudgy man with a scar just to the right of his thin mouth, leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Almost home, doll."

She looked over at him with those eyes that were the same but not. "You have a home to get back to, Roland. Some of us would aren't so lucky."

The older man's eyebrows contracted. "Didn't you say something about some bloke? That famous one. Ron Weasley, yeah?"

"The love of my life? Yeah, I mentioned him," she replied sarcastically. "After three years, I'm not entirely sure that he'll be waiting with open arms."

There was silence between them for a few minutes. She broke it in a very matter-of-fact voice. "We were going to get married, you know."

Roland didn't seem know what to say to that. In the years they'd worked together, hiding and spying and negotiating, they'd never been the closest in their team. They had only caught the same train because they were going the same direction. Nevertheless, he reached out and held her hand. Everyone on their team had lost things, being gone so long. As much as they'd hated where they'd been, it was nearly as terrifying to come back and see what they'd been missing.

A wheezy voice sounded on the intercom above them, startling the woman and Roland, and causing them to drop hands. "My stop," she commented dryly. She reached out her hand again, and Roland shook it. "We'll see each other at the Ministry, I suppose. Best of luck."

"Best of luck to you, too."

She picked up her bags and nodded curtly. She joined the que filing out the door and burst into the milling station. She walked herself over to a secluded corner, and checked, with many months of practice, if anyone could see her from any vantage point. Convinced that the only person who might see was the drunken man in the corner across from hers (and with the reek coming off of him, he wouldn't remember this tomorrow, anyway), she performed a graceful spin and was gone with a loud CRACK.

She appeared just outside of her old flat. She stared up at the window, her grip on her baggage handles so tight that her sensibly short nails cut pressed painfully into her palm. There was little movement inside, but the lights were on. Just as she was about to start towards the building's door, she heard a feminine giggle coming unmistakably from the window she'd just been contemplating.

A scratchy feeling invaded her throat as she saw shadows play out against the wall that she could make out from her vantage point. They were intertwined so that she couldn't see where one ended and the other began.

A male voice, breathing a little heavily, said something about blinds. The nasty little jumpy tricks her heart had been doing in her chest suddenly began to slow to a stop. That didn't sound like ..

Sure enough, the man that came to close the shutters was blonde and none too tall. It wasn't Ron.

Ron had, apparently, moved.

Her heart now performing at a normal pace, but her throat still scratchy, she went over her options quickly in her head. She made a decision almost instantly, and with another graceful turn, was gone again.

This time, she reappeared in front of a small, tastefully designed townhouse. She could only hope the occupants, who had moved in only weeks before she'd skipped town, were still there. She suddenly felt like a schoolgirl again, trudging up the stone steps, dragging her bags stained with dirt and old burn marks. Knowing that if she hesitated she wouldn't be able to the thing at all, she knocked on the bright red door, perhaps a bit too loud and cheerfully.

Almost instantly, she heard a call of "I'm coming!" The sound of laughter preceded the opening of the door. A woman with bright red hair cut to just above her shoulders was behind, still half-turned to look at whoever had made the joke. The smile slid off the younger woman's face as soon as she slid her head around and saw who was at her door.

"Hello, Ginny," the woman on the porch said, smiling tremulously. Merlin's pants! She wasn't a stupid student anymore.

"Gin?" A man came from behind the red-headed girl and stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he seemed incapable of saying anything. Finally, he managed to croak, "Her .. Hermione?"

Hermione Granger smiled at her best friend, a little more confidently than before. "It's me, Harry. I'm home."

AN: Duhn-duhn-duhn! Well, there it is. A bit short, but subsequent chapters will be longer. Hope you enjoy. Also, to all the other authors writing about this sort of thing, I'm sorry about the fact I kinda-sorta took your idea. I'll try never to do so again. Love? Hate? Review!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Ok. Obviously, I updated much sooner than I'd anticipated.

It's just, this story kept swimming up to the top of my brain. I had no ideas for one of my fanfics, and the other got updated yesterday. So, really, what could I do? After getting home at a glorious ten, P.M. of course, I decided to sit down and put it out there. Well, after dinner, a shower, and surfing YouTube, but eventually, I did do just that. It's a little different from the last chapter. I know you probably won't be satisfied with Hermione's answers any more than Harry, but know that I don't think I will ever fully explain what happened to Hermione during her mysterious time off – though you will get a rough idea. Also, this isn't just reactions to her coming back. It'll be rebuilding the pieces that she left behind (corny as that sounds). So it'll most likely be a pretty long fic, if things go as planned.

That said, time to answer the anons!

_krazz_ – I'm not sure what Ron has been up to will be as important as how he's changed in their time apart. But I will throw in some in some stuff about what he does. You'll get a taste this chapter, in fact, though a very small one.

Disclaimer: I'm a sad, poor, lonely student just trying to pay that tuition. Don't sue me, if you please.

Hermione had a very strong feeling that a door was about to be slammed in her face.

Pure, unadulterated shock seemed to be on her side. Harry was staring at her as if she were a tree come to talk about the pitfalls of living with squirrels. Ginny seemed to think that she was having a rather comprehensive dream. She kept blinking her eyes rapidly, and Hermione was fairly sure she saw her lower her hand and surreptitiously pinch herself.

For her part, Hermione simply wanted to run. She wanted to run away and pretend she had never come back in the first place. What had she been thinking, dredging up their front steps, dirty and worn, looking for a place to stay after three years without a word to them? If she were in their place, what would she have done?

Knowing full well the answer to this, she began to stutter. "I don't know what I was ... I shouldn't be here, I know ... I – I should just get ..."

"No." Ginny's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, and her voice held a note of disbelief. "Come in. Hermione."

Harry's mouth shaped the word "Hermione" silently.

The instinct to get inside – _outside is open, outside is unprotected, outside is asking for someone to find you _– was simply too strong. Head hung, Hermione shuffled past Ginny and Harry, her bag dragging behind her like a tail between her legs.

She stood in their living room awkwardly. She couldn't see all the things that had stayed the same for all the things that were different. Her eyes avoided the pictures on the lintel and shelves the most.

Automatically, she let her wand slide down from its resting place up her sleeve and into her waiting hand. With a murmur and a flick, the room's lights enhanced and dimmed back down. Hermione gave the room a quick glance around, stopping when she caught the expressions on Harry and Ginny's faces.

She couldn't help the blush that flamed on her cheeks. The same precautions that kept her alive now felt like showy overkill. Once again, she was the brightest witch of the year, eager to show off how much more she knew than the rest of the class.

The silence was broken with a noise that sounded like a mouse being trodden on. Hermione realized, with a start, that it had come from Harry.

Ginny stepped forward and pointed towards the couch, her movements almost mechanical. "Sit."

Hermione sat.

Ginny glance around, as if unsure where to go. Jerkily, she made her way to the giant armchair to the right of the sofa and lowered herself into it with a shaky sigh. Harry made another odd noise, a laughing sort of hiccup, and sat down where he stood, dropping his head into his hands.

"Where have you been?" Ginny asked dully.

Blunt questions first. Already, Hermione was going to disappoint them. "I can't tell you," she nearly whispered, gazing down at her feet.

For the first time, Harry spoke, his head still in between his hands. "What?"

"I can't tell you." Hermione rubbed her forehead anxiously. "You know I would if I could, but ... it's really, really important that I don't."

"You can't." Now Harry's head was up. He fixed Hermione with a burning stare, so intense she wanted to look away. She'd forgotten he could do that.

Abruptly, Harry stood up and turned to his wife. "Ginny, I think you should go."

"Wait ... what?" Ginny's head snapped around to meet her husband's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I need to talk to Hermione alone." Harry smiled at her, a combination of incredulity and apology. "I'm sorry. I just ... have to."

Ginny blazed up in protest for a moment; next second, her shoulders were hunched in defeat. "Of course," she remarked dryly. "But only for a few minutes, Harry. You and Ron aren't the only ones who need explanations." With that ominous announcement, Ginny swept from the room, her hair swinging wildly in protest.

Hermione desperately wanted to speak, but she had absolutely no idea what she could say. It seemed like whatever leniency she may have been allowed by the mystery surrounding her disappearance had been broken when she couldn't give Harry the one answer he wanted to hear.

Harry didn't seem to quite know what to do either. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Opened it again; shut it with a scratchy chuckle and shake of his head. Then he managed a word.

"Pig!"

That seemed a bit rich, calling her names at a time like that. Annoyed, Hermione opened her mouth to tell him so when a small, old owl came fluttering into the room.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" A rush of silver light flew at the bird, then simmered down. With a loud call, Pig flew once around the room, and then out an open window.

Catching Hermione's puzzled look, Harry waved vaguely. "If you use an owl, the Patronus can carry a longer message. Ron and George figured it out, with a bit of experimenting."

Hermione nodded, very impressed. "George always did know more than he let on at school."

"Yeah." Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "You left."

Once upon a time, Hermione would have flung herself into Harry's arms. She would have cried into his shoulder about how she hadn't _really_ wanted to, but how much good she had done and how much of a difference she had made, and she would never, never do it again.

Instead, she squared up her shoulders and met him head-on. "If I'd thought I had another choice, you know I wouldn't've."

"I don't really know that much about you anymore, honestly." Harry ran a hand through his wild hair, touching his scar in the process. "I haven't heard from you in three years, you see."

Hermione clenched her hands together. "Remember when Sirius was on the run, how he couldn't have Hedwig coming to every place he was at? Well, it was sort of like that. Where we were, they used a different kind of bird, so you using an owl would have been conspicuous. Not to mention, they didn't want us having contact." She smirked hollowly. "Too much chance we'd let something slip through our sheer collective stupidity."

"Stop that!" Out of no where, Harry patience had ended. He looked like he wanted to hit something or blow something up, and was barely holding back. "Stop talking about ... whatever it was you were doing. If you can't just tell me, don't dangle details out in front of me. I thought you were better than that, Hermione."

She took a deep breath in. "I'm not trying to do that. I'm not used to not talking about it, yet." She added, matter-of-factly, "I missed you the whole time. You and Ron and Ginny, most of all."

Harry snorted loudly through his nose. "Yeah? Well, we've been having a smashing time here. Sure, we had no idea where you were, what you were doing, or whether you were even still alive."

Her voice was almost inaudible when she replied. "I'm sorry. What can I say?"

"I can't think of one damn thing that would make this right, if you want the truth," Harry said forcefully. His wand was still out from when he had performed the Patronus. His fingers ran up and down its length absentmindedly, making the end spark. "How did you think this was going to go?"

The sudden laugh surprised him. "I thought it would be far worse," she informed him, grinning wryly. "Nobody's cursed me yet."

This new take on the situation seemed to stump Harry into silence.

Hermione decided that giving Harry time to think of new ways to yell at her wasn't really the best idea. "Who did you send the owl to?"

"Ron."

Everything in Hermione froze. "Ron?" she squeaked unhappily.

Harry's glare went right through her. "Ron should have been the first to know," he said, voice hard.

Hermione nodded again, a bit weaker. "He moved," she offered.

"Can you blame him?"

Breathe in. Out. Calm. "No. Of course not."

Harry looked lost. "I can't do this without him."

Hermione looked sick. "I can't do this with him."

He wasn't supposed to see her like this. She was supposed to be clean, for one thing. She was supposed to be rested and well-dressed and prepared.

More than anything else Hermione had said, this made Harry soften. He grinned at her a little. "Still?"

"Always." She rubbed her forehead again, until the skin reddened angrily.

Again, Harry opened his mouth as if there was something he needed to say, but apparently thought the better of it. Ignoring the questioning quirk of Hermione's eyebrow, he simply leaned back on the wall behind him.

Thankfully, there was a reason they were best friends. He only let Hermione suffer for a few more moments before answering the unspoken question. "He's not seeing anyone now, as far as I know."

"Oh." So he _had_ seen someone, but was currently single. This wasn't altogether comforting. She had been gone long enough that he could've had a real relationship with someone. That would be almost as bad as coming home to find him married.

Hermione wiped her sweaty palms on her faded jeans, which didn't do either a speck of good.

"OI! HARRY!"

A cold sweat broke out in beads all across Hermione's face. Ron was there.

AN: Ah, the cliffhanger. Evil to read. Fun to write. Hope you all still like this whole thing. It was a bit longer than the last chapter, and I expect the next one will be longer still. I mean, Ron will be involved, and we all know that's what we've been waiting for. I will work very hard so as not to disappoint. Love? Hate? Review!


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Ok, so here's another thing that annoys me. I don't like when Harry, Ron or Hermione suddenly turn all drop-dead gorgeous. Sorry, I don't mean to offend people, but there you are. Still, I suppose that Auror training would toughen you up some, and so will Ron, and Harry a little, accordingly. But don't mistake reasonable hardening up for instant Tom Welling body. Neither Ron nor Harry will ever have a six pack or a toned anything. Also, Hermione is thin. This does not mean she is runway material. Her hair will still look something nested in it recently a good amount of the time and her face is just as plain as before, though with those nice changes I made first chapter. Just so we're clear.

Now time for the anons:

_KP_ – Why, thank you! As you can see, I've just done so.

This reminds me. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed. I've gotten quite a few, and it's really been encouraging. I love y'all! Hee. But seriously, you guys make my day, every day. Now all of you who've put this on alert but didn't review (and don't apparently think I notice) – do me a favor and be more like the reviewers. I'm not trying to be ungrateful. I'm thrilled that you're interested at all, to be honest. But these first few chapters are really important to how the fic goes, and if I don't know what you're thinking now, I won't be sure how to proceed from here. So if you have anything to ask, point out, or change, now would be a most excellent time.

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah ... don't sue.

"Harry!" Ron's voice was light, laughing a bit. "Harry, what in the hell could be an emergency at one in the damn ..."

Hermione didn't even have a moment to prepare herself before he was right in front of her.

He didn't look at all the same. His floppy red hair had been cut within an inch of his head. Always, he had been tall, but he'd looked stretched out and thin, almost like a puppy just grown into a dog. Now, he had more bulk – not muscles, really, she doubted he'd ever have patience for the training to develop actual definition – that had turned his height into something intimidating. He had earned a scar or two of his own, faintest pink on his pale skin. This Ron was a new Auror Ron, and he looked at last the part of the hero he'd been for years.

However, none of this fazed Hermione in the least. It was the look on Ron's face, rather like something putrid was lingering just under his long nose. Forcibly, the image of Narcissa Malfoy floated to the top of her mind.

"Hermione."

The sound of her name broke the standstill. Ron's eyes lingered on hers only long enough to make sure she understood how disgusting he found her; then his head turned to Harry.

"That isn't an emergency, mate. It's an annoyance."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Ron met his gaze. "Yeah. I was sleeping, you know."

"And you're not the least bit curious as to where she's been?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well, she won't tell us, will she?" Ron as last turned back to Hermione, smiling a particularly nasty smile. "Will you?"

Hermione, cowed into silence, nodded as small as possible.

Harry glanced shiftily between the two of them. "And how'd you figure that?"

Ron sighed, obviously tiring of the conversation that was keeping him from sleep. "Department of Mysteries. They're always getting sent off on those jobs for months, even years, nobody's got any idea what they get up to, right?"

Harry didn't answer, but Hermione could see things slide into place in his head.

"Well, one of those blokes, Roland something-or-other, had been asking around some of the Aurors a bit before _she_," a big head jerk towards Hermione, "took off, seeing if they knew if any of the people down in the Law department had enough guts for one of their little outings. I overheard, I was helping Dinger close the file on the Prewett case. Next thing you know, Hermione's gone and the Ministry's sent us all those wonderful little notes."

He cleared his throat dramatically. "_Dear Mr. Weasley_," he continued in a nasally voice, "_One Miss Hermione Granger had been asked, and has accepted, to help the Ministry in a crisis situation of utmost secrecy. We must insist you do not try to contact her until her time serving the Ministry is at an end._"

Hermione didn't know which was more surprising. That Ron had figured all of this out, or that Harry hadn't.

Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Why didn't you let me in on this brilliant discovery, then?" he asked hotly.

Ron merely shrugged. "I never heard of someone being forced into any of this. I didn't reckon it really mattered why she'd gone; just that she had chosen to go."

If Ron had taken a bat to her stomach, he couldn't have done a better job of knocking the wind right out of her.

No one moved for a moment. Then Ron, yawning slightly, said, "If that's all, then ..."

"That is not bloody well all!" Something in Hermione had caught on fire, and now she was in a heated rage. "I've been gone for three years, Ronald Weasley, and that is all you have to say to me?"

Looking thoughtful, Ron acquiesced politely. "Yes, of course. You're right, as usual." His expression changed into one of simpering adoration. "Honey, I'm really, really sorry. I went ahead and cancelled our wedding plans. I would've waited, honestly, but the caterer said he'd make me pay double if he had to hold the food for longer than two years."

"If anyone should understand higher causes and fighting for the good of the many, it should be the two of you!" Hermione wasn't entirely sure she had much of a point, but it felt better to fight. More natural, more fitting. "I did what I thought I had to at the time. I didn't want to leave you and you know it."

"Ah. I was left a month before I was supposed to get married because of my fiancé's superior moral compass. How comforting." Ron's voice was calm as could be.

Hermione bristled as he had come at her, fists swinging. "You haven't the slightest idea of the things I've done, all this time," she hissed at him, "you couldn't begin to imagine ..."

At this, Ron laughed. "Couldn't imagine, eh? That's us put in our place, isn't it, Harry? Fought and defeated Voldemort, became the two most called-on Aurors of our generation, and had to hear Percy singing in the shower when he stayed over that time, but Hermione's got the drop on us."

Harry shook his head wearily. "Can you two not start again already?"

Ron grinned cheekily. "I haven't started a thing. In fact, I'm trying to end it."

"You left once, too."

Finally, she had hit it. The mask slipped off Ron's face instantly; every muscle in his body tensed and his eyes narrowed. "If I recall," he replied in clipped tones, "it took you about half the time I was gone to forgive me again. If you're still in town in a year and half, look me up."

He spun on the spot with a gracefulness that Hermione herself had never quite managed, and was gone.

Breathing heavily, Hermione sat down. She had no idea when she'd stood up, or at what point she'd started digging her fingernails into her palms again. Unlike the first time, she'd actually drawn blood.

"He's changed a lot, hasn't he?" she asked Harry sadly.

"Can you blame him?" Harry repeated.

"No." Hermione was rubbing her forehead again. Dimly, she realized she must have picked up the habit from her partner, Ophelia. Whose offer of a place to stay she probably should have considered a bit more.

"You've changed more, though, haven't you?"

Without thinking, Hermione's hand slid from her reddened forehead to a lock of her hair just to the side of her face, which was a vibrant, out of place orange. Her finger wrapped around the colorful curl. "I suppose I have."

"He was right. You chose to leave." Harry face was open with betrayal. Hermione had no idea what she could say to make it alright again.

"Time to get to bed."

Ginny's voice cut across the tension of the room.

Harry looked up blearily at his wife, then down at Hermione. Then, with a gesture that seemed to indicate he was through for the night, he walked out of the room. The sound of his feet dragging up the steps felt like admonishments to Hermione, scolding her for all the things she had done and had yet to atone for.

Ginny motioned for her to follow, and started off the same way as Harry.

Neither woman spoke until Hermione was in the spare room, bag hanging limp beside her. Ginny, with a funny little grimace on her face, was the first to speak. "You really can't say, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head forlornly. "No more than you brother guessed. It's too risky, even now."

Ginny didn't respond. She seemed content to wait for Hermione to say what she needed to.

This broke Hermione down in a way nothing else had. "Oh, Ginny," she said, the slightest hint of tears evident in her voice. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't want to leave anyone at all. If I thought that anyone else could done the job like I did, could've helped as many people as I did, I wouldn't've ever left. I hated being away from you and Harry, every minute of it. And Ron ... he's so different ..." She drifted off, giving way to her fears.

Ginny surveyed her composedly. "You broke his heart when you left." She was quiet for a moment, then added. "And mine. And Harry's of course. Hagrid, Neville, Luna, the whole family. You broke all of our hearts a little bit."

Under any other circumstance, Hermione would've scoffed this as being horrifically corny and overly dramatic. Somehow, though, she thought that Ginny just might be right. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, wishing she could cry these days.

Ginny breathed out loudly through her nose. "I'm the only one you have to say that to, Hermione. And I don't think apologies are going to be the only thing you need, this time."

With one last lingering look, she turned about softly and retreated from the room.

Hermione sat down on the bed delicately. She had spent a very long time imagining the reunion between her and Ron. Everyone else had taken about as well as could be expected, really – as bad as she felt at the moment, she knew that, eventually, they'd come to see that she hadn't wanted to go, and they'd forgive her.

But Ron. Even though logic had screamed at her to believe otherwise, something in her had always _known_ that she and Ron would be together again. She had spent seven years loving him and being unable to act on it. They could hardly give it all up now.

All that had come crashing down when she had seen him tonight. This ... this new Ron, he wasn't so forgiving. It became clear to her that he might not even be able to be friends with her again, let alone love her, marry her, have a future with her.

Hauling her knees upwards and planting her feet on the mattress, she buried her head in her lap. Her eyes burned with the tears that she had long ago lost the ability to shed.

AN: So, I put off updating my other fics so I could get Ron's reaction down. But I have the day off tomorrow, so no worries there. I just had to get that out there. As you can see, he won't be pushed over in this fanfiction. Also, as you can see, a bit longer than the last chapter, and probably a good indicator of how long subsequent chapters will be. Alright, I'm tired. Time to peace out. Love? Hate? Review!


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Dude. You guys broke my mail.

I'm not even kidding. There was such an influx of mail, your reviews plus a few from other stories added to the normal stream, stuffed up my e-mail service for a good couple hours. Every time I get an e-mail, my computer makes this little dinging combined with the sound of baseball bat (blame my dad for that one), which, when not paying attention, combine to make the sound of a toy gun going off.

I got sixty e-mails all at one time at nine in the morning, each sounding like a shot. I jumped the hell out of my computer chair and hit the deck.

That being said, despite the enormous bruise on my right knee, thanks so much for all the reviews, story alerts, and favorite stories I got from you! I have tapped into some hidden, unknown anger – who knew this many people wanted to re-do the "somebody leaves and comes back" story line? Except now I'm all nervous, because I didn't expect this enthusiastic of a response. Eh. I'll get over it.

Now to my anons:

_Moongold_ – Wow. I love you. I mean, you just complimented me about ten times in one paragraph. Just for that, I promise not to get discouraged, even though as soon as I post this chapter, I'm turning my computer's sound off.

_alanalynne_ – That's the idea. I strive to be different, per usual. Hee. Thanks. I'll do my best.

_jr_ – I always thought so. My GPA doesn't agree. But I got As in English! Perhaps the problem with my other subjects is I kept writing stories and poems in my notebooks instead of actual _notes_. Nah.

Disclaimer: Yeah. Go for that last nickel in my pocket. I dare you.

Cool sheets and warm blankets, clean pillowcases with actual pillows in them, actual _soft_ pillows, and the smell of honeysuckle.

Hermione refused to get up for an hour. She knew that she had to shower, that she was probably messing this heaven up with her own dinge and stink, but she couldn't do it. It was just so ... _nice_.

And seeing Harry and Ginny wasn't.

Still, she wasn't used to being inactive, these days. So after sixty minutes of enjoying the feeling of lying in a cloud, she tumbled off the bed and trudged off to the shower.

This was a different kind of happiness. Hot water, pretty-smelling soap, and a layer of dirt and grime and memories swimming down the drain in torrents. A fluffy towel to wrap herself in after, her skin pink and a little raw, her hair matted down in multi-colored chunks. She could look down and see her scars, reddened and irritated, standing out harshly on her thin legs and arms, free of excess blood for the first time.

Ginny's clothes hung a little loose on her, but Hermione couldn't have cared less. They had no holes, no stench, no rough spots that scratched her every time she moved.

Hermione had to take a few deep breaths, dry-eyed, to make sure she was calm enough to go downstairs.

Blessing number four sat on the table, steam rising up in great curls. Hot, delicious food.

Ignoring Ginny and Harry's incredulous looks, she snatched a plate. Everything she could see was piled on unceremoniously; she caught glances of eggs, sausages, kippers, toast, and scones before it disappeared under the growing mound. As soon as her scrambling hand found a fork, it was all been shoved into her mouth, one thing just as good as another.

"Ah." Harry decided that this was sufficient commentary, and went back to his own eggs, though with a slight flare to his nose.

Ginny was a bit more worried. In actions reminiscent of her own mother, her eyes kept flicking from the food to Hermione's constantly moving mouth, her fingers tightened around her wand as prepared to save Hermione the exact moment a chunk of bread got lodged in her throat.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione's head separated from her plate. She grinned exuberantly. "Morning, all."

"My brothers would be impressed," Ginny remarked wryly, eliciting a chuckle from her husband. The fingers around her wand loosened.

With forced cheeriness, Hermione said, mostly to the crumbs in her lap, "I'm off to work!"

No one said anything. Hermione chanced a look up. Harry and Ginny were exchanging gazes, talking without words like only a serious married couple can.

"Erm." Ginny turned to Hermione. "It's Saturday."

"Yes, well, it's our first day back, you see." It was an odd comfort to be absolutely sure that her face gave away nothing.

Harry didn't appreciate it. "Are you coming back?" he asked, voice hard.

She met his eyes, unwavering. "As long as you want me," she replied levelly.

Hermione decided not to Apperate or use Floo to get to the Ministry. She took the underground again, getting off three blocks away. It was wonderful, walking through the crowds, looking just like herself.

She walked up happily to the broken phone booth, unconsciously sweeping the area with quick glances around. Grinning broadly, she went the door and clanged it shut behind her. Picking up the telephone, she quickly whirled around the necessary numbers.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic." The familiar cool female voice resounded all around her. "Please state your name and business."

Hermione beamed at the receiver. "Hermione Granger, Department of Law."

"Thank you."

Without warning, the box quivered and began to melt into the ground. Hermione was practically bouncing on her toes in excitement. The lobby, marble and gold and new statue shining, came into view.

Hermione shivered as the booth stopped and the door swung open. She ran out, nearly missing the lifeless "The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day" the female voice offered in parting.

Dazed, Hermione couldn't decide which way to turn. Up at the vaulted ceilings, down at the shiny tiles, around at the familiar faces ...

"Oi!"

"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, I didn't ..."

Ron looked down at whoever had bumped into him with mild annoyance. Upon seeing who it was, his expression changed to one of surprise ... and mild annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" Blunt question, one eyebrow raised, arms slowly crossed. Body language indicating aloofness and subtle hostility.

Hermione blushed the tiniest bit. "Sorry. I didn't, um, see you. I was just, you know, looking around," she concluded lamely, gesturing to indicate the hall in general.

Now both eyebrows were up. "Forgotten what the place looked like? Time away'll do that to you." An insolent smirk played at the edges of his lips.

"Just happy to be back," Hermione retorted calmly. Her chin rose of it's own accord, challenging Ron to say anything more, to start their usual row right in the middle of a hundred or more witches and wizards.

Ron didn't take the bait. Instead, he took a step back and held his arm out gallantly. "Don't let me keep you, then. Have a nice day, Miss Granger."

"Herm!"

Next moment, Hermione's vision was impaired by a large quantity of blonde hair, sporting the same odd highlights as her own. Two arms wrapped around her, cutting off her supply of oxygen.

Someone just to their left seemed to have read her mind. "Ophelia, let her breathe."

Immediately, Hermione was released. She smiled up happily at the tall woman in front of her. "Hello, Ope."

A snort directed her attention back to Ron.

His eyebrows were back up. "Herm? Ope? Really, Hermione? I don't think my name'll shorten, but Harry can be Har and Ginny'll be Gin, Neville's Nev, Luna's Lun, she'll like that ..."

Ophelia, menacing despite the few inches she lacked to the redhead, bristled at Ron. "It's our thing. You got a name, Freckles?"

Ron ignored her, choosing to speak to Hermione, leaning his head around her to get a better view. "She's charming. Been with her this whole time?"

"And me." Roland, the voice which had saved Hermione from suffocation, held his hand out to Ron. "Roland Peters."

Ron accepted the hand with a look of irritated realization. "Ron Weasley."

"Wait." Ophelia turned to Hermione. "That's him?"

Hermione's blushed deepened a degree. "Yeah."

Ron's forehead crinkled. "I'm who?"

Roland was staring at Ron like he was a diversionary tactic Roland was determined to learn. Then his expression brightened. "Of course! Ron, _the_ Ron. The one she was supposed to marry."

Hermione whimpered a little. Ron, however, smiled benevolently. "Ah, yes. Well, I am him. Anything else she's told you about me?"

"Not a thing you'd be interested in, Ronald." Anger flared to take the place of embarrassment. "Roland, Ophelia, we have a meeting to get to."

Roland caught the hint. "Good to meet you, Ron," he said formally, before the three of them walked off.

Ophelia and Hermione fell in step just behind Roland. Ophelia looked down at her friend skeptically. "That's really Ron?"

Hermione nodded, her eyes fixed ahead.

Ophelia's lip curled. "I don't like him. He's an ass."

Laughing, Hermione agreed. "He's an ass."

"Doesn't he know that you've been risking your life for idiots like him for the past three years?"  
"He's an Auror, Ope," Hermione pointed out as they rounded a corner and began down a gilded gold staircase. "And he spent a year running around England trying to defeat the most evil wizard in history. To him, risking your life is an every day occurrence."

Ophelia shook her head. "But if he knew ..."

Hermione interrupted. "But he can't."

"You really loved him, huh?" The taller girl reached down slightly to place an arm around her friend.

Hermione leaned her head on the nearest bit of Ophelia she could. "Still do, actually. Still, we've got things to do more important."

Ophelia grinned ferally. "First days back after saving the world are always the hardest."

AN: Ok, not as in love with this chapter. But it's been such a struggle to get it written, what with my computer tanking (again), trying to fix up the cable and killing the internet (again), and getting so busy during the day I have to write this at three in the AM (again, again, again, as Jewel might say), that it'll have to do. This was always the problem chapter, anyway. I couldn't figure a nice way to slide Hermione back into the usual world without some nasty jerks and bumps. Hope you bear with me this chapter. Next should be more interesting and give you more hints to what Hermione's been up to. There's a nice detail in here you might like, if you pick up on it. Love? Hate? Review!

P.S. I almost forgot! Yes, I went with the clichéd American bitch best friend. Sorry. It's all I know! Don't worry, though. American won't be the only nationality you'll see. Fun times!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I have a sneaking suspicion about something. You see, I've got forty people with this story on alert, but not that many people are reviewing by half (well, except for chapter three). And I know the hidden anger for leaving fics now. So here's my question: Are you guys waiting to see if my fic turns cheesy before giving it a proper go?

If so, I cry foul. How will I know what I'm doing right or wrong if y'all don't tell me? I can't. And comparing my fic to others isn't fair. Not to them and not to me. I told you I was writing this because of my own frustrations, but only so I could give credit where credit was due and explain why I was writing a fic that has been done so many times before. It's not so it can be a competition or anything. Which is the last thing I'll say about it.

If I'm wrong about this, review to tell me that I'm being an idiot and I should stop eating those Oreos – they make me crazy.

It's either that or all the One Tree Hill I've been watching. See, I really don't watch the new seasons (everyone except Brooke, whom I adore, changed too much, and the stories started getting really stupid), but I adored the first season. So I went online, cobbled together most of the episodes from various shipping sites, and have been watching it for the past couple days. I must say, Brooke rules, Naley's adorable, and Luke was so damn cute when he was nice and broody (instead of just broody). Same for Peyton when she was punktastic cheerleader. But enough of my odd TV-internet viewing habits. I suppose you probably rather read the story. Whatever floats your boat, I guess. Of course, this may make you spitting mad to find out what Hermione's been up to, but my answer doesn't change – you will only ever know part of what she did.

Disclaimer: Oh, right. Like J.K.'s ever said the word "punktastic" in her life. Or wrote it down. Whatever.

The room was pitch black. In fact, it was so very dark, that the phrase "pitch black" suddenly took on a new meaning, and gave everyone there the feeling that their use of the term under previous circumstances had been glib and naive.

A single light shone in the very middle. The light made a perfect circle on the floor and shone as bright and soft as the moon. The white marble underneath swam with patterns like a river over rocks, intensely beautiful, but in the same way that a siren's voice or sphinx's fur was beautiful – terrible and fierce, danger lurking just beneath.

The woman in the middle of the light took no notice of any of this. She stared resolutely ahead, chin up and hair wild, nothingness pressing around her.

"Hermione Jane Granger."

The booming male voice didn't shake her any more than the literal spotlight had. Smiling pleasantly, she nodded assent.

"You were part of the team assigned to protect the Hidden. You started as fourth in charge, moving to third after Auror Hugh McLean was killed in a struggle a year into the task. Ophelia Danes was the partner assigned to you. Is this correct."

"It is."

"Add anything you would like to your report."

Hermione breathed in deeply. "There's nothing. We have it safe. It won't be used again. The threat to it has been destroyed. Over a hundred people are dead for a stick of wood. Nothing left to report."

A reedy man leaned forward from the dark circle enough that the light cast a blue pallor on his face. "Insolent," he breathed, dead eyes boring into her. "Such insolence from one so young."

Unflinching, Hermione met his gaze. "I've seen things you never will. Don't presume to be above me, Kregan. I've survived things worse than you."

"Enough," the voice boomed. "That is all you wish to say, Hermione?"

"I take thorough notes, as you well know, Kingsley." A ghost of a smile flickered on her lips.

This time, a muttering arose from a few parts of the room. Kregan hissed, his sallow face ugly with loathing.

Kingsley ignored it. "I do indeed. Very well. You may step down."

Hermione nodded again, tipped wink in the general direction where she knew Kingsley to be, and Apperated.

The first thing that registered was the dim but total light that filled the gray marble hallway. The next was Roland crouched beside a wall, breathing heavily, Ophelia standing beside him. Just beyond them was an Australian male whose head seemed to brush the ceiling, his arm around a short Egyptian woman with wide black eyes. Off in a corner where two Cuban witches, their hair cropped to the top of their ears, standing beside a wizard with desert-tanned skin; down a few steps, French, German, and Russian accented English was being spoken by a dozen middle-aged women with lines on their faces and muscles in their arms. Two men were whispering in Chinese, leaning against the wall across from where Roland kneeled. All but Roland and the Egyptian had the same played up features and odd highlights.

All talking stopped the moment Hermione was spotted.

Ophelia summed up the general feeling in a word. "So?"

"They'll try to make you nervous with a little trick of spotlight. It's a much simpler charm than most of us have seen this year." Unconsciously, Hermione had straightened her back and had taken an authoritative tone. "Give straight answers and we'll be fine." She looked down at her train companion. "What happened to Roland?"

He looked up at her crossly. "Simple charm, my ass," he wheezed. "Bet Kinsley told them to take it easy on you, being a war hero and all."

"And a friend," the Australian added, grinning charmingly.

"Or they could know about Roland's accomplishments as an Auror," Hermione replied evenly.

Roland snorted weakly.

Ophelia laughed. "Still sucking up to Herm, Randy? Better reattach your lips, honey, or a certain redhead is going to knock your head off."

Randy shook his head as the Egyptian woman chuckled deeply. "Gloria's my girl, mate. No need for the famous Ron Weasley'n me to tussle." He smirked down cheekily at Gloria, who simply chuckled a bit more.

"No need for anyone to bring up Ron again," Hermione warned, glaring menacingly. "Ever."

One of the middle aged witches called out, "Did Kregan give you any trouble?"

Hermione's nose flared. "Of course he did. Still resents that I got chosen over him for this. Pathetic little man," she ended derisively.

The corridor shook with laughter. Deciding that this was the best note to leave on, Hermione sang out a cheery good-bye and Apperated again.

She reappeared just beside Harry, making him jump and drop the sandwich he had been holding. "Bloody hell! Hermione!"

"Sorry, Harry." Trying not to smile, she waved her wand; the sandwich shook itself and sprang back into Harry's hands.

Harry looked grateful for a moment. Then his face hardened. "You came back, then?"

Hermione shrugged. "I said I would."

"To be honest, that wasn't exactly reassuring."

Hermione let a frustrated wail. Harry started, dropping the sandwich again.

"Hermione!"

"Harry, just shut up!"

Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and towed him into the sitting room. She left him on one side, then crossed the room in a few short strides and whirled around to face him. "Say it. Say anything you're thinking. But get it off your chest now. All of it."

Harry looked shocked for a moment before regaining himself. "You shouldn't have left."

Hermione shot back. "Maybe not. But it was no different than when we left to search for the Horcruxes, except I couldn't go with you and Ron this time."

Harry took a step closer. "Why? What could you be doing that you couldn't tell us?"

"I couldn't tell you because if anyone told anybody anything, it broke the trust of the team. And if the team had no trust, it was vulnerable."

"And why can't you tell me now?"

"Things are still in motion, and probably always will be. I'll tell you as much as I can, but there are answers I can't give. You more than anyone should understand that!"

"It hurt, Hermione!" Harry's eyes blazed emerald. "Three years without you ... it was like something was missing, like an arm or a leg but _more_. If you thought you had any idea of what that was like when Ron left, that was for a month. And Ron. It destroyed him."

Hermione felt something stick in her throat. "I know! You think I don't? You think I don't know what it's like, being left? I remember, Harry. I am so sorry, you know that I am. I hated being away from here. But there were and are bigger things."

"Why does it always have to be us? Why can't someone else take care of the world for a moment, eh? Why can't we be happy?" Harry was gesturing madly, his hair sticking up at even odder angles than usual.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know. I wish I did, though."

There was a minute where nothing at all happened. Hermione was suddenly aware of the drizzle misting the window to her right, even as the sun broke through the clouds and lit the tiny drops of rain like diamonds. She felt the need to laugh and cry at the same time, but she couldn't really do either. She settled for walking over to the pane and putting her hand on the glass. "I really wish I knew," she said again, stronger, clearer.

Then she was being pulled into Harry's arms, wrapped around her tightly. She thrust her head into his shoulder and her hands reached around to meet behind his back. "I missed you so much, Harry," she muttered into his sweatshirt. "Always."

He pulled her in tighter. "I haven't forgiven you yet, you know."

"Mm-hmmm." Hermione nodded, her bushy top rubbing his chin.

"You have a long ways to go with me. And you have a lot to explain for."

"I know," Hermione replied in her smallest voice.

"And you still have Ron to go. We're not completely alright until he is, and he's not as easy as me." Harry sounded almost apologetic.

Hermione exhaled noisily through her nose. "I know."

"Good." Harry smiled into her hair. "I'm glad you're home."

AN: Don't worry, Harry wasn't lying. They've still got a lot of stuff to work out. Simply, Harry's not good with holding a grudge. It's just the first hurtle down. Though it's not perfect by far, I'm quite a bit happier with this chapter than the last. I hope this will be and all around consensus. See what I meant about the nationalities. By the way, if anyone's got anything to help with those (words those nationalities commonly use, some habits, speech patterns I should know), it would be appreciated. The only one's I got are the Brits and the Americans. In fact, and Indian chick will be popping up, for the basic reason that that's what one of my best friend's is and will make it easier for me to write. Anyway, that's done. I think it was a bit longer than last one's, anyway. They keep turning out a little shorter than I want them to. Oh, well. Love? Hate? Review!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Have you ever taken something called "AlcoholEDU?" No? Well, let me tell you about it. It's where you listen to this annoying person go on and on about the dangers of drinking, complete with pictures, for nearly three hours, at the end of which you must to take a test to see how much you've absorbed.

The annoying part? I DON'T DRINK. Not that there's anything wrong with it. I just don't like the out of control feeling I got the, like, two times I ever got drunk, nor the fun of puking into the bathtub (what? The toilet smelled funny). I haven't even had a sip of a drink in a year. I passed, and now I'm cleared to go the mysterious university of which I will not name (I'd like to trust you guys aren't stalkers, but I saw the footage of a fan jumping through Dan's limo window, so I'm playing it safe).

Alright, enough of that. On to my anons:

_ShonnaRae_ – Always good to hear. I feel the exact same way. The reason the relationship works is the balance of power. Hermione can get at Ron in ways others can't, but the reverse is just as true. Hee. Angst is fun!

_BT_ – I'm glad you like it. I'm worried about the luck, though. What, do you think I'll need it? What's happening? What's wrong? I had three slices of cake in twenty-four hours and I'm on a bit of another paranoid sugar high!

Alright, time to do the story thing. Let's go!

Disclaimer: I'm running out of things to say. Don't own, don't sue.

"So you've been where?"

Hermione nudged Harry's foot with her own playfully. "I told you. Everywhere, nearly. We picked up recruits from most countries, and I helped pick them. Took a few months, being sure we'd gotten who we needed. Bulgaria took the most time, in fact. Would you believe they're still upset about that World Cup? Absolutely ridiculous, of course, holding a grudge that long over a stupid sport."

Harry cocked an eyebrow from his lazy spot on the couch. "You know what I meant."

"I'm answering what I can," Hermione reminded him. She leaned back further into the armchair, sighing comfortably.

"Right. What were you after?"

"Can't say."

"Fine. What happened to your hair? And your nose, and your ... face. Everything's sort of ... off." Harry looked slightly embarrassed to ask.

Hermione smiled and tugged at blonde strand of hair. "Polyjuice Potion."

Harry's nose wrinkled. "But that stuff wears off."

"Generally." She twined the blonde with a black curl. "But I've been using it almost every day for two years now. After a while, some things don't go back the right way. Hair, as you can tell, is the most susceptible. Then teeth and nails, followed by ears, noses, toes, fingers, and then just about everything else. You have to be careful or your organs don't change back, and you have to have someone on hand to help you Transfigure it. One man died because he didn't back in time, and his heart was too small."

There was a silence as Harry digested this. Hermione took this as an opportunity to get in some questions of her own. "You've been doing well in the Ministry?"

"Yeah. Auror work is actually easier than the stuff we did in school."

"That's not exactly surprising," Hermione retorted, wincing at memories of teenagers solving the problems of the world.

Harry grinned widely. "They all think I'm brilliant, when really I'm just using stuff you told me when you were twelve. Here's an important one. Did you do whatever it was you were supposed to?"

Hermione's face clouded. "I don't know. We stopped the _thing_ were supposed to, but the actual mission sort of went wrong. I have to hide some things that the Ministry can't know about. It's for the better, really, but Harry, it's hard. And sometimes I'm a little bit scared that I messed everything up."

A throat cleared in the doorway. They looked up to see Ginny, looking very suppressed. "Hello. You two done arguing?"

Harry surveyed Hermione warily. "For now."

Ginny nodded. "Ron?"

"A different story entirely." Hermione felt the day catch up with her. She stood up. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go to bed. It's been an ... enlightening day back."

Without giving her friends a chance to reply, Hermione walked out of the room.

Another night of sleep was exactly what she needed; she rationalized as she lay down on the feather mattress. Another night of deep sleep on a soft, real bed, and she'd be able to figure this whole thing out.

Because, after all, Ron would come around. She was expecting too much. It had been two days, after all. Two days back couldn't make up for years missing. Eventually, Ron would have to see what Harry had. Hermione hadn't left to hurt them. She would never do that. She'd left because she'd had to. She would say she was sorry, she would tell him how wonderful she thought he was and how much she missed him, and he'd forgive her. She had no idea how long it would take, weeks or months or years, but she knew that one day, they'd resume their plans, and end up married and happy.

It all sounded so nice. Hermione was just too much of a realist to believe a word of it, even in her own tired imagination.



_They sat in front of the fire, cross-legged. They smiled in silent congratulations among themselves, they're pudgy young faces lit with knowledge. Hermione felt a thrill run through her body, from the bottom of her feet to the tips of her bushy roots._

It must be first year. Just after they'd found out about Nicholas Flamel. They had been so happy, so proud, of a fact just dropped into their laps ... so innocent...

_Harry scratched at his wild hair with grubby fingers. When he lowered his arm again, it tucked comfortably around a tiny red-head girl, who beamed up at him, wriggling into his grasp._

Odd. Ginny hadn't even gone to Hogwarts then.

_Another arm draped lazily around Hermione's shoulders. She looked round to see Ron, looking entirely pleased by this arrangement. She blushed a little, then rested her head down lightly on his shoulder. Ron bent down slightly to give her a kiss on her topmost curls. "We've done good, haven't we, Hermione?" Ron whispered into her ear. She nodded contentedly._

Now that wasn't at all accurate. She and Ron were so much likely to have a shouting match than anything else in the world. They'd been so afraid to care about each other.

_A tiny gasp redirected her attention to Ginny. The girl had a funny expression on her face. Hermione sat up, concerned. "Ginny, what's going ...?"_

_And then Ginny was changing before her eyes. Lying stiff and pale on a stone floor, bloodless, barely breathing; her eyes wide, wand trembling in her hand, staring at the Death Eaters all around her; dodging curses, leaping side to side, terrified but so sure; running out of the Room of Requirement, her face eager and blood-thirsty ..._

She never went back in. She hadn't been safe.

_Ginny was gone. Hermione had no time to blink, to worry, to mourn, when Harry made the same tiny hiccup of dismay. His face melted before her eyes into a mask of pain and anger, cursing the man who had killed his parents; he was collapsed on a Quidditch field, his hand clutched to Cedric Diggory's cold wrist, tears pouring down his face; running through the corridors of Hogwarts, ignoring the deadly magic still bouncing off walls and fired across the hallway, loss and hatred obvious in the seconds she caught a glimpse of him; his eyes closed off and hidden as he saw his parent's graves for the first time; dead, dead, dead in Hagrid's arms, Voldemort's laugh echoing everywhere ..._

He hadn't died. He had won. She knew he had won.

_She it would happen before it did. Ron made no noise. He just stared at her with pure blue eyes. Then he was clutching at his leg, his mouth screwed up in pain, but holding onto Harry determinedly; giggling stupidly, incoherent, as they fought for their lives; shielding himself, bellowing at the top of his lungs as birds pecked at every bit of skin they get could get at; the disgust etched in his face as he realized that she wasn't leaving with him; battling Fenrir Greyback, Neville by his side, bent on revenge, for a moment no one but her on his mind ..._

_He stood in front of her now, older, crew cut and new bulk and all the things that made him not her Ron anymore. A nasty, twisted sneer stretched his face, alienating him from her completely. He reached out to touch her face, mocking, his fingers burning her with ice._

_"Remembering the good old days, eh, Herm?" He caught sight of something just behind her; bending down, he murmured caressingly into her ear, "Better run now."_

_And she was running. She had lost track of who was with her, but there were still feet pounding on either side, so someone had to be alive. She wasn't alone yet._

_There was screaming. Somebody was screaming her name, warning her, scared for her – the person with object tucked into their inside jacket pocket._

_He was on her. And he was everything she could've imagined, everything she dreamed of as a little girl afraid of the dark, everything that she'd read about and secretly feared. He bore down, blood dripping from sharp fangs, his hand seeking the thing he knew she hid..._

Hermione woke instantly. Sweat made her clothes stick to her skin, trickling down her cheeks, catching in her eyebrows, dripping onto her tongue as she panted heavily, as though she'd been running through a forest from her worst nightmare. Shaking, she ran her hands along the side of her head and bent until her forehead lay on the top of the cool comforter. Her eyes itched with tears that lay just out of her reach.

It had barely been a month, but she hardly ever dreamt about him. She never dreamt about Voldemort, either. Things that were dead should remain so. Hermione had a very controlled mind, for the most part, so much so that even her subconscious obeyed her wishes. The only explanation that she could think of was that the new worries coming home had caused were making her vulnerable.

"Hermione?"

The only gesture she allowed to betray her shock was the abrupt rigidity of her spine. "Ginny." She looked up, hoping the dark was dark enough to hide her. "I didn't mean to wake you up. Did I ...?" She didn't want to finish the sentence, so she drifted off awkwardly.

"I was already up."

"Good." Hermione heard faint voices coming from the rooms below. She cast around for something to say. "So ... someone over?"

Ginny snorted and crossed her arms impatiently. "We have things to settle, you know. I haven't forgotten about it." Ginny seemed to be glaring at Hermione, but the older woman was too confused to care. "You left me as well. But I get that you three have this ... thing. So just know. I'm letting you sort things out with them first. Then we'll get our turn."

"Oh." Fantastic.

Ginny nodded and turned to go. She threw one last comment over her shoulder. "I thought you might like to know, it's Ron down there."

Hermione had a very short debate with herself. Annoyed with herself, she whipped out her wand and pointed. A dozen different spots in her body were flooded with the familiar feeling of an egg being broken and swimming onto her body. She slipped off the bed and out of her room, muttering quietly about morals and spying on best friends.

AN: Ok, still kinda short. But longer! Possibly the longest in the fic, actually. I had to split the chapters here or it would've been very, very, very long, and I have other fics I'm most seriously neglecting at this point. I hope this was up fast enough for you guys – that was the one comment I got the most. Oh, and while the dream thing is also overused, I thought you'd enjoy that glimpse into Hermione's journey a bit, and I didn't see how else to put it out there. You have no idea how much I struggled with letting you know even more, but I decided that waiting is much more fun, even if you don't appreciate it now. Love? Hate? Review!


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Sorry it's been so long! But I had writer's block, then school started, and then I sprained a ligament in my foot which resulted in six hours in the ER and one of those stupid slipper-sandal things you have to wear with a sock. Yeah, I'm styling! Thank God for Labor Day. I can't take another day wandering around the stupid, enormous, hilly campus. Happiness for staying at home and lying around so I can "rest my foot" all weekend long.

Anyway, I have two things to address. Number one: I know that most of you have a particular feeling about whose in the right here, and it's generally split down the middle between Ron and Hermione (though I do think Ron's got a few more fans at this point). And all of you hope to see one of them have a solid victory over the other. This won't happen. In real life, how often is a rift solely one person's fault? Not often, you'll find. And so it is here. Hermione did a bad thing in leaving, but she had good reasons, as you're beginning to find. Therefore, while there will battles and wins on both sides, I wouldn't expect an out-and-out "It's all my fault, I apologize, let me grovel at your feet" anytime soon.

Number two: I got Hermione's middle name wrong, as was pointed out to me in one my reviews. It's Jean, not Jane. Damn my laziness! Though you'll probably notice it in the first couple sentences here. What? I'm on crutches, damn it, with an icky hospital sandal to match. I'm not going all the way up the stairs to go find some book to find out how to spell one little charm. Sorry, but I'm not quite that invested. But, if you tell me what it is, I promise not to do it again.

By the way, interesting fact. If I had waited my usual day or two to post a new chapter, I would've gotten five reviews. Because I waited, I ended up getting fourteen. What are you trying to say here, people?

Anons:

_EH_ - DAMN IT! I'm so angry I did that. Especially to switch it with Umbridge's ... I'm very disappointed with myself. I don't mind getting the spells wrong so much (because there are so very many of them), but to get a name wrong is so ... aggravating. Oi. Anyway, moving on. Well, they had things to do involving Polyjuice Potion that you will find out later, but also they had to do things like in DH, such as buy groceries and get directions in town. Floating eggs and bread tend to attract attention. And three years is a lot of grocery getting and direction asking, to say the least. You are insanely close, the closest yet, in fact. However, only for part of what she was doing, and there's going to be a lot more I bet you won't guess – but it would be pretty cool if you did. I'd be impressed.

_ST_ – Initials are going around. Glad you like it, and life has no guarantees.

_Shonnarae_ – Always happy to hear you enjoyed it, of course. In this chapter, though, it's not really the RHr interaction that's important.

_Paloma_ – Aw, that's awesome! This sounds insanely stupid and American and tourist-y of me, but my sister just had a stay down in Cambridge and she spent some time in Barcelona and a couple other cities nearby and absolutely loved it. Moving from that moment of dorkiness ... Well, thanks. I'll try and get you an e-mail, but it's not working too well, so I'm not sure it'll reach you. It's alright, you're not the first person to give me suggestions. I have a pretty set storyline, though. Not to mention, I feel the Weasleys have given up quite enough and I can't imagine killing one of them off. I MISS YOU, FRED!!!!

I'm a dork.

Disclaimer: Sure, I own HP. That's why I'm wandering around with a hospital slipper that smells like blood, chemicals, and old people. Pleasant image, huh?

It was almost eerie, how normal it felt. Creeping down the staircase, her feet muffled with slippers and spells. Casting Muffilato on Ron and Harry, who were perched on the couch and armchair in the sitting room respectively, without ever opening her mouth. Surveying the room quickly and instantly settling down by the fireplace, as the best place to view her two friends without any creaking floorboards or dips in cushions to give her away. In fact, the only thing that seemed odd at all for Hermione was the setting. Spy tactics and comfortable middle class settings were both familiar but clashed so entirely, like memories from two different lives.

"She says it's all from using too much Polyjuice. It's pretty interesting; we've never really noticed it before. Sure, the uppers probably knew, anyone who goes into Potions and all that, but Polyjuice isn't that commonly used among the younger set, so I'll bet it's never been an issue. Still, at the rate we used it as kids ..."

Hermione turned her attention to the conversation. Ron was pulling at his lip thoughtfully. "Yeah. We'll have to make sure and limit our use from now on. And I'll pass it on to George, see if he can do anything about those side-effects. He's been itching for a new project for ages."

"Thank him for those new apps on the brooms again. Kingsley was telling me the other day they pretty much saved Warwick and Coontz after they got into it with a couple of those rebel goblins. It was nearly fifteen of them versus those two. Barely got away." Snorting, Harry added darkly, "Of course, if those idiots in the Cooperation department would listen to what we've been saying for years and just treated them on the same level as wizards ..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You know how those lot are. Take Bolongs, Fudge's nephew. Even more of a prat than Fudge ever was, blustering on about his fond feelings for mermaids and such while killing bills for better wizarding relations with elves left and right, idiot if there ever was one."

"Says the president of SPEW," Harry commented, grinning a little. Hermione nearly fell over sideways in surprise. Ron merely shrugged.

"What can I say? It's pretty hard to run an organization with over a thousand people when your second-in-command keeps asking if we're ever going to look into nargle rights."

Harry nodded understandingly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking about shiftily. Blowing out a large breath, he took the plunge. "Speaking of Spew ..."

"S-P-E-W," Ron corrected with the hint of a smile.

"Right, that." Harry gave Ron a look over his glasses so reminiscent of McGonagall Hermione had to let out the smallest of chuckles, which thankfully went unnoticed. "Are we ever going to talk about ... that?"

Ron's eyes widened innocently. "I thought we already were."

"Ron," Harry said warningly.

"Ah, you're referring to my errant, home-again ex," Ron remarked coolly; Hermione thought, not for the first time, that he must have begun to channel Fred at some point. "I'd really rather not."

Harry sighed, sitting up and scratching his head. "I know. But we ought to really, you know, discuss it or something." He looked slightly terrified at the very thought. "It's just, she's back, and I know you've got to be thinking, well, something, and you haven't said anything. Except, you know, about her looks, and that hardly counts."

Hermione had a sudden knowledge of this conversation had started, and desperately wished she had come down just a minute or two earlier.

Ron seemed to be doing some desperate wishing of his own. "Look, mate, you said you two had it out, and that's all good for you. But things with me and her are different, alright?"

"I know." Harry met his eyes squarely. "Things don't change though, between you and me? No matter where things land with you and Hermione. I don't want something to come between us."

"Course not. Nothing's done so far, has it, then?"

Uncomfortable silence filled the room for a moment as Harry become amazingly interested with a picture on the wall while Ron picked at a spot on the couch. Then Harry, still staring at the picture asked, in a somewhat strained voice, "So, do you still love her?"

Startled, Ron glanced up. Harry had not moved his eyes; a faint blush colored his cheeks. Ron's own ears turned a bit red, but he answered steadily.

"Why don't we ask Hermione?"

Only years of training kept Hermione from screaming out loud at his brazen admonition. Instead she took a few calming breaths, wondering if it were possible if he were bluffing. The fact that he was looking directly at her, wearing an unpleasant smirk that smacked of George, made her very doubtful.

Harry squinted in the direction that Ron was. After a few moments he apparently noticed something as well; at any rate, he sighed heavily and said, rather irritably, "Come on out, Hermione."

Shell-shocked, her jaw dropped like one of those old Muggle cartoons, Hermione tapped herself with her wand. Within moments, the spell was lifted, and she was perfectly visible in a very uncomfortable situation. It was like someone had stolen her security blanket and slapped her in the face all at the same time.

"How?" she managed to croak.

Ron kept smirking, obviously pleased with himself, leaving Harry to answer. "Do you remember when Dumbledore took me to get the first Horcrux?"

She didn't trust her voice. Instead, she jerked head the tiniest bit in assent.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes flicking between Hermione and Ron. "Well, he did this thing, where he sort of ... felt around, and just knew the spells. He'd done it before, just sort of looking and touching and knowing spells were in place, and how to look through them. So we thought, a couple years back, that we'd try and work on it, too. Luna's best at it by far, no idea why, but me and Ron have been doing pretty well at it. It's easiest, though, if you're familiar with the person's magic that you're looking for. It's sort of distinctive, like yours. Yours has got this sort of ... I dunno, clear outline to it. Mostly this sort of light purple tinge. And it feels very orderly, too, so it's pretty simple to pick out."

Ron chimed in with, "Sort of like your magic has to be a know-it-all, too."

Hermione whistled slightly, ignoring the jab. "Impressive. You've been busy."

"Well, not all of us can go off on Ministry-funded vacations whenever we feel the need," Ron informed her, standing up. "Harry, I'll see you at work. Remember the case file on Urran. Don't want that nasty little bastard squirming free again, not with the Magoons in our jurisdiction."

With a nod to Harry, he began to leave the room. He paused next to Hermione; leaning towards her, he murmured, "Next time you want to play spy on us, be a nice little sneak and try stealing Harry's invisibility cloak. It's only thing that'll hide you from me, now that I know to have a lookout for you."

With that adoring sentiment, he performed a jerky half-turn and disappeared.

Hermione glared at the place where Ron had just stood. "I'm going to have a wild stab here and say he's still upset with me."

"You shouldn't've spied on us."

"Of course I shouldn't," Hermione conceded, walking over to the spot on the couch Ron had just vacated and lowering herself down on it slowly. "I've gotten too used to it, I suppose. I won't do it again."

Harry didn't appear to know what to say to this; he began to nod, stopped, opened his mouth, closed it, then snapped his eyes back to the painting.

Hermione hated to make him more uncomfortable, but she had to ask. "D'you ... do you think he still loves me?"

Far from looking uncomfortable, Harry's spluttered in absolute terror. "Hermione!" was about the only thing he seemed able to say.

"You asked it first," Hermione pointed out dryly.

"I didn't think you were listening in at the time," Harry countered, blushing much more than before. "I ... well, I don't know, really ... I shouldn't answer that."

Hermione leaned forward, eyes pleading. "Please, Harry."

Harry let out frustrated sort of grunt. "Yeah, alright, fine. I don't know for sure, of course, because you stopped him from answering and all, but he's been in love with forever. I'd imagine he still is today."

Hermione digested this for a moment. "So he's never dated anyone else?"

"_Hermione_!" This one almost knocked Harry off the couch.

"Harry, I need to know this from you rather than someone else."

"True." The moments of silence were all that Hermione needed, but Harry went on anyway. "There was this girl. Her name was Reena ..."

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"And apparently they went out for nearly five months a little less than a year after I left. Reena's a stupid name, don't you think?"

Ophelia grimaced in a companionable sort of way. "Only a year? You sure you really like this guy? Because I think he's a serious ass."

"Harry says that she wasn't really like me or really that far from me, either. Just this girl from his Dad's department that he met about eight months after, well, you know. Harry said she was smart enough, but sort of boring." Hermione scowled at the coffee mug in her hand (she'd picked up the habit from Ophelia). "I bet she was some tall, sweet, blonde type."

"Honey, you've just described me. Except for, you know, the sweet part," Ophelia amended upon reflection. She reached across Hermione's new desk to carefully remove the mug, which was now shaking like Hermione's hands, and set it down. "Maybe we should talk about something else."

As if on cue, a tap came at the door of Hermione's new office. A second later, Roland's head popped into the room. "You wanted t'see me, did you?"

Ophelia turned to Hermione questioningly; they didn't spend much time with the man outside of general interactions. Hermione signaled for her not to mention anything quite yet. "Yes. The Disillusionment Charm we worked for the last year, the more complex one – you're the one that made up, along with Clelia, isn't that right?"

Roland bobbed his head in confirmation, confused. "It was us, yeah."

"And as far as you know, that's the most powerful type of Disillusionment Charm that anyone's come up with?"

Again, Roland nodded, hesitantly. "Is there a point to this, Granger?" he asked wearily.

Hermione blew out of her mouth noisily before smiling at him politely. "That's it, actually. Thanks very much."

Eyebrows cocked, Roland withdrew slowly and shut the door behind him.

Ophelia turned to Hermione. "What was that about?"

"Ron caught me spying on him last night, and I was using that charm. Harry says they've been working on sort feeling out and seeing magic, like Dumbledore used to. I wonder ..." Her mouth pursed in concentration.

Ophelia was on the verge of asking what, exactly, she was wondering, when a large bang and yell emitted from outside the office.

The two of them leaped to their feet and sprinted to the door, which Ophelia threw open with a large clack. Outside, a panting Roland stood with his wand inches from the sallow face of Kregan. Kregan, for his part, looked most menacing, his own wand twitching uselessly in his limp hand at his side.

The scene held for a moment, the two men staring at each other with intense dislike. Then Kregan noticed Hermione leaning on the outside wall of her doorway; snarling, he yanked back from Roland and swept down the hall in the opposite direction.

"What in the hell was all that about?" Ophelia asked loudly, causing the small crowd, which had gathered to watch the impending showdown, to disperse while muttering small excuses and throwing backwards glances at the diffused conflict.

Roland glared, eyes narrowed, at Kregan's back for a moment before answering. "I dropped in at Randy's office before walking back down this way again, and I found that little rat listenin' in at your door. When I asked what he was tryin' to do, he got all flustered and tried to curse me." Roland's wrinkled nose indicated exactly what he thought of this.

Hermione, however, was far beyond his mild discomfort. Only bad things could come of Kregan listening in to her conversations, she knew that much. From now on, she decided, it would be best to make sure not to say anything very important while in the Ministry.

AN: Can't complain about length this time up! Ok, well, you can, but considering how long this is and how long it took me to write it (you may laugh, but sprained ligaments HURT), I will totally ignore you. I've gone off my original idea very slightly in that I'm going to let you know a bit more of what Hermione was doing in her little sojourn than I initially planned. Don't look too disappointed, now. I was just looking over the structure of this and pre-writing some stuff I'd like to go at the end (yes, I really am that well organized, with stories, anyway) and decided that I needed to clear up some details, or the whole thing wouldn't end up making that much sense in the big climax (that sounded dirty), which would be sad. Well, I've got another fic I've got to write tomorrow, so it's time for me to go to bed. Ok, I'm going to listen to my Jack's Mannequin CD a couple times, _then_ go to bed. Night-night. Love? Hate? Review!

P.S. Hey! Guess what? This whole thing is actually over three thousand words (ANs included, unfortunately), which may combine to make this my longest chapter EVER. Pretty cool, huh? Ok, now I really am done. Bye!


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Do you have any idea how long this took me to write? Three days! I'm so busy, and having the worst writer's block ever. I haven't updated my other fics in weeks. Damn you, school year!

Anyone read about Madeline L'Engle's death? I was so sad! "A Wrinkle in Time" was one of my all time favorites. Fantasy and religious blasphemy all at once! How could one not love it? May you not be in trouble God, should she exist, oh greatest of novelists.

Says the religion minor at a major university. Eh, what can you do?

Anons:

_EH_ – As someone pointed out, JK also made the same mistake I did, stating that Hermione's middle name was Jane. I knew I'd read it somewhere! Even if, you know, it wasn't in the actual books. Heh. Well, it's too much fun to tease. I know that makes me a mean fanfic author, but whatever. You know, you'd think, but I've often learned that what seems so obvious to frequent readers and writers often goes by unnoticed by others. I thought so. He's been a busy little boy, what with being an Auror, helping George out with important projects, running SPEW, and dating that chick. It's going to be interesting, to pull this all together. My goal is to update all my chapters by next Monday. Fingers crossed!

_Shonnarae_ – Thanks. That was the thinking, after all. Along with my cheater-ish way of staying with Hermione's POV and giving some insight on Harry and Ron's thought process. Angst is fun! You'll have to wait a bit, I think. Having them nip at each other is too much fun.

Now on to the insanely long chapter that took me YEARS to write. Or, well, that's how it felt to me.

Disclaimer: It takes me three days to finish six pages. Like hell I've written seven entire books, several hundred pages each.

"_ACCENDO ABSCONDITUS!"_

A tiny ball of fire burned at the end of the wand. It shuddered and swirled around itself, like a cold traveler pulling a cloak closer to their body. Quivering, it looked small and shaken. The slightest breathe from the man holding the wand seemed to threaten its timid existence.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, it grew, sliding down the wand eagerly, happily enveloping the hand that wrapped around the wood. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of white. The flame turned a vivid green and snaked to cover its castor. He lit up wildly, throwing sickening patterns on the stone walls behind him. His eyes blazed with secret knowledge. The thin mouth opened in a hair-raising cackle; within him, the blue flames crackled and made bids for freedom.

And it was over. The dark was instantaneous and oppressing. Only the slight smell of burnt flesh remained.

A low voice spoke. "Hermione Granger, I see you."

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Hermione felt as though a finger had run itself lightly up her spine. It was as though someone had ripped through the protections she had set upon herself for the past few years in just a few seconds. She felt amazingly vulnerable. Shivering, she rubbed her arms slowly.

"Tu est bien, oui?"

Hermione shook her head. "Toujours, Pascaline."

The short witch to Hermione's right cocked an eyebrow, officially distracted from the reports that she, Hermione, Gloria, and Faiz, a solemn-looking man with deep eyes. "Oo iz alwayz fine? No one. What iz 'e matteeur?"

The discussion had finally caught the other two's attention. Gloria frowned. "What has happened, Hermione?"

"Nothing, really. Just a bad feeling, I suppose." Hermione smiled as best as she could, ignoring the cold buzzing in the back of her brain that told her otherwise.

Faiz lowered his magnificent head to look her in the eye. "Where I am from, Miss Granger," he said in a deep voice, barely the whisper of an accent tingeing his words, "it is considered to foolish to ignore one's feelings. It is possible that there is something that your senses know that your head does not."

Gloria and Pascaline nodded empathetically. Hermione scowled. "I don't believe in signs or feelings or any of that superstitious nonsense. There is and always will be cold hard fact and data, and nothing else. Silly things, crystal balls an-and Grims and such ..." She drifted off, muttering angrily. Quite apart from being upset with Faiz or even with Pascaline, she could just imagine Ron's reaction if he'd heard her say the same thing just a few years ago.

_Like all your defenses were down? I dunno, Hermione, that sounds bad. Think we should ask Harry what he reckons? Maybe Kingsley? And in the meantime maybe you should just sort of lay low, don't take any risks, stick with me for a while ..._

"Absurd," she snorted, her voice wavering, and turned back to the reports.

Faiz gazed at her, unperturbed. "Miss Granger, have you not seen enough in this life to understand there are things you cannot explain, even with magic?"

Hermione sighed and ran her hands through her out-of-control hair. "Of course. That doesn't mean that everything is a sign. Or that I have to pay attention to the ones that are."

"That is most ..."

"Foolish, yes, you've mentioned," Hermione snapped, whipping around to face him.

Pascaline and Gloria both looked eternally grateful for the immediate interruption moments later in the form of Randy.

"Arvo, mates! Gloria, my girl." He bent down for a kiss. "And Hermione Granger, commander in chief of all that is secret and safe."

"You have a point, Randy," Hermione said testily.

"Indeed I do. Guess what ratbag's gone and taken a sickie?"

Instantly, Hermione's feelings of foreboding increased. "Kregan," she breathed, a sudden bolt of understanding hitting her.

She scrambled onto her feet, knocking reports every which way. "Finish those up, and make sure they've got those holes fixed," she instructed hurriedly, before heading for the door.

"Where you going, then?" Randy asked as she passed by, but she didn't give him a second thought.

It was only minutes before she was sitting next to Ophelia, deep in discussion in hushed tones over two mugs of coffee. Ophelia had pulled her chair around her desk so they could put their heads as close together as possible.

"A scary feeling I can ignore, but with Kregan not here?" Hermione's hand shook a little, so that the liquid in her cup rippled. "I think it might be more than that, and I'm a bit worried, to be completely honest."

"So Regan's ... what? I thought he was just some little slime ball who had it out for your job." Ophelia reached over to pat her friend's shoulder as Hermione's eyes darkened.

"He was a Death Eater."

Coffee sloshed onto the floor below, but Ophelia didn't pay any attention. "What?" she yelped, her grip on Hermione tightening.

"He was in the Ministry the second time around," Hermione relayed in a monotone. "When Voldemort called for his Death Eaters, Kregan stayed behind. He even warned Mr. Weasley of what was coming. He was able to beg off of sufficient punishment with all the Death Eaters Kingsley had to account for. He's been working in the Ministry ever since."

Ophelia bit her lip. "But if he warned one of the Order, doesn't that mean ..."

"I think, by then," Hermione continued, giving Ophelia a significant look, "that by then Kregan was thinking about a new master."

The coffee mug crashed to the ground.

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"Peas? Hermione? Peas, Hermione? Do you want the ... Hermione!"

Her head swung up. "What?"

"Peas." Harry stuck the bowl of vegetables under her nose. "Do you want any?"

"No. No, thank you."

Kregan had been in to hear all of the reports. He should know better than anyone ... perhaps it was revenge? She had been the one, after all. And he'd be bitter, no doubt about it, and he was a disgusting wretch to boot. But did he know enough magic for that? He'd always seemed another Wormtail, riding on more important people's coattails. His main strength had been his contacts and wealth, influence that could get him what he wanted in the Wizarding community. Had he changed so dramatically? She supposed that almost everyone else had...

"Hermione!"

"Yes, yes, what is it?" she asked irritably, turning to look Harry in the eyes.

Harry pointed at her dinner plate. In contrast to Harry and Ginny's, which had half-eaten vegetables, bread, and slices of meat pie, Hermione's plate was spotless.

"Oh. I'm not hungry." Flapping her hand dismissively, she asked, "Have you got a library, by any chance?"

Harry gave her an incredulous look. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth turned up. They twitched slightly. A strangled noise came from somewhere in his throat. Then, he was laughing hysterically.

Ginny glanced over at Hermione, before commenting dryly, "Yes, Hermione, we do have a library. Harry's very excited about it."

"No it's not ..." Harry pulled in a deep breathe before elaborating, grinning. "I know that look. Hermione Granger has a problem and the library has all the answers."

"Never complained when it saved your ass, did you, then?" Hermione asked darkly, stabbing a bun from a nearby platter with unnecessary ferocity. For the first time, the amount of food caught her attention. "Who else is coming?"

Harry, looking about shiftily, countered with, "What's got you running off to the library?"

Further bickering was halted when a call came from the front door. Hermione's eyes widened. She leaned over to hiss in Harry's ear, "You could't've warned me?"

Harry shrugged defensively. "We always put out extra food, just in case. They've just been busy this week."

Hermione's face paled. "_They_?"

"Evening, chap and chapesses. Let's see. One hero, one darling sister, and one bushy-haired runaway."

"Didn't you hear? Her hair isn't bushy, now. It's a Potion's experiment gone wrong."

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no-no-no.

In strolled the owner of the first voice. George was grinning massively, and looked possibly the best she'd seen him since his twin's death. Hermione could deduce two probable reasons. One was the ring on his left hand. The other was the tall redhead that followed just behind him, wearing a matching grin.

Apparently, in Hermione's absence, George had found another brother to get close to.

"Hermione Weasley! Oops, my mistake. Still Granger, isn't it?"

Well, there went any hope of the Weasley family hearing her side of things. Maybe if she teamed up with Ginny and Fleur she could win Bill and Charlie back.

"And that really is an explosion up there, isn't it? Did the thought of marrying Ronniekins scare you that badly?"

"No, it was the thought of being related to you, of course. Women are queuing up to marry me."

"She left the damn country to get away from you, and my anniversary's next week."

"You have a large nose."

"And you have a rapier wit, little brother."

The two of them conjured seats from the next room over. Ron tipped back and straddled his. "Not hungry, then?" he asked, sickly-sweet, looking at Hermione's empty plate.

It had been two weeks. Two entire weeks and Ron still hadn't said a kind word to her. In fact, he was obviously avoiding her at the Ministry. Every time he saw her walking towards him, he made an exaggerated expression, turned on his heel and practically fled in the other direction.

"That's enough, you lot," Ginny interrupted threateningly. She reached over and smacked George's hand as he reached for the bread. "Apologize."

George smiled at her winningly. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? May I please have a bun?"

Ginny glowered, causing Ron to lean over and give her a peck on the cheek. "Look just like Mum, you do. Come off it, we're just having some fun. Hermione knows that. Don't you?"

She smiled at him, tight-lipped. "Hilarious. Lovely to see you again, George, as always."

George nodded at her. "Wish I could say the same."

"Enough," Ginny growled menacingly.

Harry, fortunately, took hold of the situation.

"You haven't been around lately, George. Have you got something new you're working on?"

George smirked. "As a matter fact, O Chosen Boy, we have."

Ginny couldn't help looking interested. "I never heard anything."

"Well, you wouldn't," Ron said, a fork loaded with pie halfway up to his mouth. "We've only started working on it this week, haven't we? And this is the first time you've seen us since then."

In an effort to keep Ginny from throwing the sharp retort at Ron as anyone could she was dying to do, Harry questioned hurriedly, "So what are you working on, exactly? Those counter-effects Kingsley was going on about?"

"Nah, we figured those out ages ago," George said dismissively. "And do you think that old Royal would let ickle Ronnie out to help me for something like that?"

"I s'pose not," Harry acknowledged. "Something important, then."

"Very. But I'm not sure we should tell you," Ron said, staring at Hermione in a challenging sort of way. "Keeping secrets seems to be the fashion, these days."

"Fashion was never your strong suit, Ronald," Hermione fired back, eyes narrowed. "I still remember those dress robes from fourth year."

Ron cocked an eyebrow. "The ones Mum bought me because we couldn't afford anything else? I remember those. Ah. Is that the reason you went to the Yule Ball with Vicky instead of me?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, shooting back with, "I told you not to call him ..."

"Best thing you ever did for me, of course," Ron continued over her lazily, scooping some peas onto his own plate. "Should've stuck with Patil. She was pretty, smart, and, George, guess where she's been for the past three year?"

"Where, Ron?" George asked, ignoring the warning glare Ginny gave (a clear sign to not aide in the insanity happening at her dinner table).

"London!" Ron exclaimed happily.

Hermione was breathing heavily through her nose at this point. "You wouldn't have held on to her long. She was a Ravenclaw. Much too smart for a prat like you."

"You were too smart for me. Is that what happened? Because even an idiot like me can handle any everyday ditching, you know." Ron leaned on his elbows. "No need to run off with rude American women to go ferreting around in a jungle or something."

Her chair went spinning back into the wall behind her as flew up. Her eyes blazed; currents seemed to run all over her skin, as if she had been hit by lightening. "Two things, Weasley," she bit out, her mouth tasting vile. "First, I would have never, never broken our engagement. For your information, I didn't see a single person the whole time I was gone. And two. Don't ever, EVER insult what I did again. Be mad that I left. I deserve it, I know. But you have no idea what I did. What it's still costing me now. The danger I was in, the danger I'll still be in. You haven't any idea. What we did together, all the things we went through ... child's play." She spat the last two words as bitterly as she could.

Turning about, she stalked out of the room and up the stairs.

It was nearly half an hour before Harry came to her room. A cloud of yellow birds surrounded her, chirping madly and swerving up and down and landing briefly on her sweater before taking off again.

Harry leaned on the doorjamb. "You're not going to tell me still?"

Hermione's eyes followed the birds almost mindlessly. "No." She jabbed her wand at the air in the middle of the swarm; with a tiny ping, the birds turned a dark shade of blue.

"Child's play?"

"Not what you did, of course," Hermione amended absently. With another jab and ping, the birds turned into multiple tropical colors, from fluorescent pink to an indecently bright green. "But my part of it seems so small now. I mean, I helped, maybe. Still, I get it better now. All the things you went through, being singled out to fight a force so much bigger than you, worrying about everyone else's lives ... dying."

Harry took an involuntary step forward. "What?"

The unfocused look snapped back to attention. "Oh ... it's nothing. I didn't mean to say it, I didn't." She whipped her wand about; with a crack and indignant squawk, the birds vanished. "I'm not trying to tease you with things I can't talk about again, Harry, I'm not."

Harry seemed to want to ferret the truth out of her. The internal battle raged on his face for a moment before clearing. "So, you and Ron had a bit of a fight there."

Hermione smiled wanly. "That we did. It's hardly the worst."

"Are you sure about that?" Harry asked skeptically. "It seemed the worst to me."

"I'll find a way to fix it," Hermione said with a lot more confidence than she felt. "And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to ask you about spells. One's that strip your defensive charms."

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Deep in the Ministry's law department, a man opened his burnt palm. The tiny green fire erupted, tongues leaping merrily.

_"Ostendo Mihi."_

The flames cleared and settled. A small picture appeared and focused, like an automatic camera on an image in the distance. Sluggishly, the figure of a woman developed outlines and distinctive features. With a slight grunt, sweat dripping down his forehead, the man redoubled his effort until Hermione Granger's perfect image, voice included, sat in his hand. "Yes, like someone had just brushed against my spine," the miniature Hermione reiterated, eyes widened earnestly. Panting heavily, the man sneered.

"I see you."

AN: Ok, now this is the longest chapter I've ever written. With the two ANs, it's about seven pages. Crazy, right? Well, for me it completely is. Although, it's kind of weird. This chapter is almost two entire pages longer than last chapter, but the computer's only saying it's about a hundred words longer. I'm thinking either this isn't right, or I used some seriously large words and small paragraphs this time around. Oh well, I guess. Things are getting really interesting now, aren't they? Kregan's a nasty dude. And while I said I wouldn't reveal that much about her past, I never said it wouldn't effect her present, did I? No. No, I did not. It's going to be some serious fun now. Love? Hate? Review!


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Do you know how long this took me? I wrote it. And re-wrote it. And for fun, I did it one more time. Nothing was good enough … until, while watching an episode of NCIS and bouncing a pen all irritably on my new (yay!) laptop, and suddenly it hits me. Of course, still, with my schedule, it still took a week to get it down. But, at last, I've done it, and here it is.

By the way, anyone catch "Pushing Daisies?" Easily my pick for the best pilot of the fall. Of course, I loved "Wonderfalls" and fairytales and everything Tim Burton's ever done, so this was a fore-gone conclusion as far as plot line and effects were concerned. But the cast is phenomenal, especially that Lee _Pace_ – how much do I love him? Also, happy news – Jason Dohring's got a job! Watch _Moonlight_ people. If he gets another show canceled on him I may just cry – I really might. Pretty good turn out on -good, nothing is horrifically bad. Of course, I didn't watch everything, so there you go.

Oh, and whoops – I made Hermione say "ass" last chapter. This was a mistake. I meant "arse."

Ok, anons:

_Sugarbaby_ – Thanks very much. I have continued, as you can see. Though it took a while. Turns out college is kind of a time crunch.

_kara _– Here it is! And we'll just have to see, now won't we?

_Bill S_ – Thanks. Always nice to hear. And as you can tell, I am now continuing.

_Shonnarae_ – Glad you enjoyed it. George is fun to write, especially as I sort of went and wrote myself into a corner with my whole George fanfic and have no idea how to fix yet and it's been nearly two months! Sorry, anyway. Well, that's how they roll. Hell, yeah, I said roll. Heh. Who doesn't? Well, I suppose everyone who reads this fic probably does, because … it's Ron and Hermione. And as I've said – here it is!

_EH_ – Yeah, I realized that when I went back through it. I'm pretty sure it was the second. It's down in a couple transcripts as "Jane." Still, I should have checked. And she doesn't really think her part was trivial so much as she suddenly gets how large Harry's part was. It's like interviewing criminals for a law office for years and then suddenly being thrown into a multiple murder case as head council. You were helping before, certainly, but it's not quite the same.

Disclaimer: I just my laptop, don't take it away. I own nothing!

Slowly, the pen bounced lazily off the edge of the doorjamb, keeping a fairly sporadic rhythm that matched its holder's mood. The secretary in the desk a few yards away was sighing; tiny, nervous sighs, like an anxious sparrow eyeing her roost under a perceived threat. Hermione pretended not to notice, choosing instead to contemplate the marbled ceiling overhead.

"Um," the secretary hemmed uncomfortably, "Mr. Kregan may just be ill. Er, again."

Hermione smiled blandly. "Well, I'll wait a bit longer, then, before I get back to work."

The secretary brightened considerably. "I'm sorry you didn't catch him," she chirped. She did not sound sorry in the least.

"It's quite alright," Hermione responded warmly. "I'll just come back tomorrow."

The secretary's face fell.

"I'm not sure he'll like that, Miss Granger," she fretted, hands smoothing out the feather of her quill repeatedly. "In fact," she confided in a tiny voice, "he told me to keep everyone out of his office and to allow _no visitors at all_." These last words were spoken with the heaviness of importance; her eyes widened significantly under her coke bottle glasses.

Hermione snorted derisively. "You'll find, Mrs. Oiseau, that I don't often adhere to Mr. Kregan's wishes. Besides, this," at which point she waved the empty file folder she'd brought as a prop, "is a very important case, and I need senior approval. He'd understand, if I could just talk to him," she finished, her expression innocently hopeful.

Mrs. Oiseau took a little bit of pity on the young barrister. "To be honest, dear, I haven't seen him at all this week," she twittered embarrassedly. "Probably having a bit of a holiday, I shouldn't wonder. The man is getting on in years, not half as spry as he used to be, and no wife to help him, poor man …"

"Of course," Hermione agreed amiably, her mind already disconnected from the conversation. "You'll let me know if he drops in, won't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, she hurried off down the hall. As much as she wanted to know what Kregan was up to, she only had ten more minutes in her lunch break, and she had another stop to make.

"Hermione! Have you grown your hair out to make a nest for the Blue Bartonies? They love to hide in curls, you know. I printed a very interesting article about them just last month in the Quibbler."

"Hullo, Luna," Hermione greeted with the usual mix of cheer and reserve. "Ron about?"

"No, but he did leave a message. Said you'd be by around now," the blonde woman replied serenely. She handed over a small piece of brilliantly white parchment and bent back over the article which featured a large picture of Harry smiling awkwardly at a dozen flashing cameras while cutting a ribbon with a pair of large scissors which seemed to be constantly changing colors.

Wrenching her eyes from the sight of Harry shuffling away from a pudgy, beaming man in pinstripe robes, Hermione unfolded the note. In the blackest of ink were a few words in a short, cramped style that was barely more legible than when it had been scrawled out words about vampires or Cheering Charms.

_I know when your lunch break is. Say hello to Luna and don't go through my desk._

There were disadvantages of trying to catch someone off guard that had known her for most of her life. She couldn't exactly spy on him again, and she didn't want to leave work, unless …

Luna was still deeply absorbed in her article. Hermione leaned against the wall of Ron's office, sighing wistfully and perhaps a bit dramatically, flinging her hand strategically so that it landed just at the lock of his door. Muttering quickly, she performed a quick charm, before straightening up, wishing Luna a cheery afternoon, and marching off towards the elevators.

She had barely had time to sit in her office before Ophelia burst through her door, her cheeks flushed and her hair sticking out a bit at odd angles. Harry followed her in at a more sedate pace.

Ophelia grinned at her friend. "We've got an address."

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If any observer, any casual, unbiased observer, had seen just the staircase of that building, that observer would immediately know it was a bad place. Either someone had been murdered there or a murderer was living there, they would know immediately, Muggle and wizard alike. It was more than the rot in the wood or the peeling paint or the unidentifiable smell that could only be likened to a hospital just after a rush of patients comes in. No, it was the feel of the thing. That shiver up the spine, the small hairs standing up, heightened alert and lingering air of depression, and, most of all, the impression that once a person had entered the building, they were trapped eternally with no hopes of getting out.

The landlord, scruffy, fat, and reeking of days-old alcohol, fit in with the scene perfectly. He muttered viciously under his breath as he trundled up the steps, his left foot dragging just behind the rest of him, as if it, at least, knew that its owner wanted nothing more than to be back in his moth-ridden armchair in his own flat, rather than catering to the gray-haired witch behind him.

This particular woman, her hands tucked rather firmly under her arms, which were held as close to her body as possible, was his least favorite type of person. She was, first of all, interrupting his time alone with a bottle of Firewhiskey just so he could open up a door. It wasn't his fault, he thought irritably, that his moron of a tenant had bewitched the room so no one but the tenant and the landlord himself could open it. The thought of his moron tenant, however brief, angered the landlord so much that he vented his feelings for the man by pausing long enough to stop and kick the wall, hard enough to make a sound but not quite enough to make another hole.

His musings, if they could be called that, then returned to the woman behind him. He also hated her for her obvious wealth and the silliness that came along with it. A shiny lavender cloak was draped over her shoulders, partially hiding her frothy pastel pink robes – and he absolutely _hated_ pink.

Still, as far as he was concerned, the worst thing about this woman was that she was being unbearably polite to him. This made it a mean thing to hate her, which he felt bad about; with the result he hated her all the more.

The lady twittered in an embarrassed sort of way. "It's so _stupid_ of him, really, forgetting that Sam had to drop these off. I hope that I'm not putting you too much, but I really do have to be back to Sarah's by eight. Dear woman's throwing her usual dinner for the Muggle orphanage she's found of, even though Charles ran off with that nasty little assistant of his. You know the type, with one of those flipsy sort of names, Cookie or Muffin or something …"

Ignoring the woman's ramblings, except for the occasional noncommittal grunt, the landlord turned onto the landing and started down the hall. The hall was actually worse than the staircase, if for no other reason that two of the smells were now identifiable. One was urine. The other was fresh blood.

Apartment number thirty-two's door stood out from the rest of the doors nearby. The paint looked fresh and clean, and the gold numbers shone as if polished minutes ago. As the duo neared the flat, there seemed to be more light, and the quality of scent improved perceptibly. Grumbling, the landlord burrowed through a pocket hidden somewhere in the great folds of his tweed pants; his round fingers emerged some moments later clutching a ring of tarnished keys. He shoved one into the lock, whispered some words to the door, turned the knob and pushed the door open. Ignoring the woman's gushing words of thanks, he hobbled right back down the stairs at much quicker pace than he'd come up. Only when he safely in his wonderful, hole-ridden armchair did he stop to think how odd it was that the elderly witch hadn't been a bit bothered by her surroundings. She didn't even mind the smell.

For her part, the old woman didn't enter the apartment straight away. She held the door open for a while, shifting her eyes up and down the hall. Finally, she seemed satisfied, and with a last survey of the decrepit hall entered the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

"I'm gonna have my first gray hair before I'm thirty," she whined to the empty flat behind her.

From the darkness, a voice replied, very unsympathetically, "You already have one, Ope, and so do I. I'm more worried about your liver staying the same size as a sixty-year old woman with an obvious drinking problem."

And out of nowhere, three figures emerged, red-faced, huffing, and sweating profusely. Two extremely tall men straightened up, wincing, while a short woman, emerging from her very cramped space between them, brushed her bushy hair back into a sloppy bun to separate it from her dampened neck. One of the men, black-haired and pale, pointed out, "Kregan hasn't been here in a long time."

"Cleared out a few weeks back," the old woman said distractedly. Her gaze fixed on the other female. "And sweetie, just because she was trashed when we found her doesn't mean she's a drunk. Her liver's probably fine."

Hermione decided not to make the obvious comment to this, instead making do with, "We'd better give this place a good go-over before the Potion wears off. What time have you got?"

Harry glanced down at his watch. "Five to seven. She's got a good forty-five minutes left. Still, we need to get down to Randy and Pascaline and get back to a safe location, so I'd say we have ten, maybe fifteen, to do a run-down and get the info. What?"

Hermione shook her head wonderingly. "Really odd seeing you as an Auror, is all. Alright, you all know your area."

"And what are we looking for?" Hermione cocked an eyebrow, causing Ophelia to elaborate. "I mean, what do you think he's up to? Other than breaking your defenses and being a dead ringer for Alan Rickman in _Die Hard_. Except, you know, shorter and older and a little greasier."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I don't know what Kregan's up to, I don't know who Alex Ricard is, but I know that Kregan is missing and Kregan is angry, and I don't like that. You've all had to go places where we don't know what the target's done – well, I'm assuming you have, Harry – so just follow the set routine. Just faster. Head to it."

Faiz, Ophelia and Harry nodded, then broke apart. The four of them moved to different parts of the flat, taking out their wands at almost the exact same time. It wasn't long before they were all wearing expressions of intense concentration, various lights emitting from different wand tips. The sound of spells being murmured breathily sounded like a slight wind through oak leaves.

Hermione wiped beads of sweat off her forehead as she closed a complex searching charm, her body illuminated by a reddish-orange light. She took a deep breath through her mouth and exhaled it out her nose. Silently, she counted to ten, then repeated the gesture. Making sure her mind was completely empty, she counted to ten again. She could feel the bile recede back down her throat.

"They taught us the same thing in Auror training." Harry settled against the wall next to where Hermione was crouched. He, too, looked strained; the magical energy it took to perform the usual investigation spells compounded with the strength it took to break through the defenses and hexes that Kregan had spread throughout his entire flat.

Hermione crinkled her nose. "Just like I thought. He moved away from his old family home uptown so he could do … well, things that wouldn't ring clear with the majority of the wizarding community. He's killed here, Harry. More than once."

"I thought as much."

"I still hate it," Hermione admitted to him, though her gaze remained firmly on her shoes. "I've seen so many people die, and I still hate it."

A hand gently rested on her shoulder. She looked up into Harry's eyes, which were full of understanding. "Me, too. It's good, though. Imagine not feeling anything at all."

Hermione jerked her head in assent, not trusting her scratchy throat.

Harry was the one to break the silence that fell between them. He made a few _hrummph_-ing sounds, fiddling with the clasps of his cloak and throwing a few surreptitious glances Hermione's way. Finally he spoke – though blurting might have been a better word for it. "I told Ron about Kregan." Off her panicked look, he elaborated. "I mean, I told him that you were looking into the man. I didn't say much more … not that I know much more …"

"And what did he say?" Hermione tried as hard as she could to appear as though the answer didn't mean that much to her.

"He'll ask around."

Harry's carefully arranged features let Hermione know that she hadn't done a very good job disguising how much she cared about what Ron had said – also that Ron probably said good deal more, and none of it complimentary to her. This didn't particularly upset her. He cared enough to make an effort to look around. She decided it was about time she confessed something to Harry. "Harry …"

He looked down at her. "What?"

"I put a charm on Ron's door."

This sent Harry scrambling to his feet. "_What_?"

She stood up as well. "Well, not so much on his door as in the keyhole. You don't think he'll see it, do you?"

"Hermione!" Now Harry looked angry. "What kind of charm? Never mind that, actually. I want to know why you'd do something … Hermione, he's still on edge with you coming back and spying on us. Putting spells in his office …"

"I know." Gingerly, Hermione leaned against the wall behind her. "I know. It's a small thing. Just to alert me when he goes in and out of his office, so I have a chance to talk to him."

"He'll see it," Harry informed her, looking as though he thought she deserved it.

"Maybe. I hid it pretty well." Hermione lightly thumped her head on the concrete behind her. "I can't seem to help myself. Not when it comes to him."

Fortunately, Ophelia chose that moment to come up to the two of them. "Me n' Faiz have got our stuff down, so if you're ready, we'd better book."

Faiz agreed solemnly. "Yes. It is best that we leave at once. Ophelia will soon return to her normal appearance. Unfortunately."

Ophelia peered up into the inscrutable. "Faizy. Was that a joke?"

The only reply she got was the slightest lift in the right corner of his mouth.

Hermione smiled, ignoring Harry's gaze fixed firmly on her. "We're done, too. Let's go."

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"Afternoon, Luna."

"Happy Alejandro's Day," Luna replied complacently, her pixie face lighting a bit at the sight of her friend.

Hermione decided that it couldn't hurt to ask. "Who's day?"

Luna leaned forward on her elbows and explained dreamily, "He was a Spanish wizard who discovered the cure to the Higgle-Higgle Hex."

"There's no such thing," Hermione couldn't help but point out, the old exasperated tone poking through slightly.

"Anymore."

Hermione decided that this wasn't the important thing to talk about. Instead, glancing around a little to be sure no one was listening, she bent down. "I'm really sorry, Luna, that I left for all that time without saying anything." She'd sent a letter to apologize to Neville, which had made her realize that she only had one other person she really had left to makes amends with.

Luna, however, didn't seem to mind. "Oh, it's alright. People don't usually stay in contact with me. I'm too strange. Just the Potters, and Ron and Neville, of course. And Dean's family, but only because he makes them." Her brutal honesty made Hermione cringe, despite the lack accusation in Luna's voice. "But I did miss you. I'm very glad you're back."

A rush of affection for the odd woman that had somehow become one of Hermione's favorite people washed over her. "I'm glad I'm back as well, Luna. Maybe I can visit with you and Dean sometime?"

The brilliant grin on Luna's face was answer enough.

After a bit of aimless chatter, in which time Hermione was informed of several more things that she'd never heard of before, Hermione excused herself to go "poke around Ron's office for that book I lent him." Making sure that Luna was once again distracted, this time with fixing little red "A's" on party hats, Hermione bent down to check on her spell in the door. It hadn't been alerting her quite the way it should. Frowning, she dug out her wand and began prodding the keyhole gently, until …

POOF!

The noise alone knocked Hermione to the ground. It took her a few moments of blinking to register the fuzzy feeling that had crept into the left side of her head. As soon as she realized it was there, it was gone, leaving some sort of purple line or something at the edge of her vision.

Except it wasn't a line.

Amazed, Hermione reached for the lock of hair right beside her face. It was now undeniably purple, and, almost more surprising, stick straight.

"Ronald said that after that happened, I should give you this." Hermione looked up to see Luna holding another piece of white parchment, as bright as the first. She unfolded it gingerly, hoping no more surprises were inside it.

_Nice spell. I couldn't actually get it out of there – you're still a bit too clever for me, I'll admit. But I thought I'd leave a little something for you. That, by the way, is what your magic looks like. __You __know – straight, orderly, damn bright purple__You can see why it's not too hard to spot. Try to stop leaving stuff like this in my office if you only want a little bit of purple__ hair. Of course, George __turns his nose hairs purple as talking point, so I don't know how much of a threat that is. __Well, I'll think of something more interesting. Say hello to Luna and don't go through my desk._

Hermione didn't really know how to react to this. She ended up laughing. Luna decided to laugh with her, and the two of them continued on laughing for quite a long time.

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A grin was still firmly fixed on Hermione's face as she made her way down to her office. If she'd ever had an inclination to whistle or hum, she probably would have done so. Her first contact with Ron that felt more like their old squabbles than anything else … she had never skipped before. Why had she never skipped before? She didn't think she even knew how to properly, but she was tempted to try. It was just a sort of step-step, step-step, longer steps perhaps …

"Hermione?"

"Oh, er, hello Roland." Hermione did her best to look dignified.

Roland was giving her a funny look, almost condescending, and it made her bristle. "Ophelia said she'd like t'see you down in your office."

Hermione nodded. "Alright. Thanks for passing the message along."

"Of course," Roland replied amicably. He scrutinized Hermione for a moment, making her shift a bit uncomfortably. Abruptly, he asked, "Heard anything about that scumbag Kregan?"

Hermione shrugged. "Hasn't been in much," she noted casually, watching Roland's face for changes. Roland was a famous old Auror, almost the way Mad-Eye had been. She wanted to know his opinion of Kregan, because it would help justify her bad feelings about the man.

"You've been watching him, yeah?" Hermione didn't confirm it, but Roland didn't seem to need her to. He stroked the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "I'm watching him, too, mind. I think that it can't hurt, having a couple extra eyes on him, doll." He inclined his head towards Hermione and walked briskly down the hall.

Hermione was still thinking about the encounter and what it might mean when she fell in step with Ophelia just outside of her office. "The rest in there?" she asked distractedly, indicating her office with a general sweep of her hand.

The worried expression on Ophelia's face was missed by Hermione. "Yeah, everybody's in there. And I mean everybody."

It wasn't necessary for Hermione to ask Ophelia what she meant as soon as they walked through her office door. Sitting on various chairs and leaning against walls were Harry, Pascaline, Faiz, Randy and Gloria. They all had their eyes fixed on one person.

From his spot lounging on a couch, Ron smirked at Hermione. "Hermione! You went through my desk, didn't you?"

AN: Ah, the cliffie. So much fun for me, so much anger for you. Oh, you love me anyway. Now, I know, I haven't explained why Hermione is so zealous when it comes to this Kregan guy, but don't you worry. I'll explain all, and hopefully next chapter, if I work it. And a bit of happy news! I've gone and broken my record all over again, and this time quite significantly. Now, I don't know much about page length transferring to this computer, as it has different font, margins, and layout, but I do know that, ANs, included, this chapter is actually over 4,000 words. I know! How cool is that? Three chapters ago, I'd never broken 3,000 and here I am at 4. It's nice. Sorry, anyway. Read, my fanfic friends, read. Love? Hate? Review!


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Ugh. This is so hard to get up. Sorry to be pathetic, but this chapter feels so short and piecemeal because of how often I've had to start and stop. I intended to write more, but soon realized that it was either go on for three more pages or stop on a cliffhanger. The second, giving my impending midterms, seemed the better choice.

Anons:

_Shonnarae_ – Aw, thanks! I love hearing stuff like that. The letters were fun to write – it was another way to show how much Ron is different while being the same, keeping a lighter, wittier tone while still running away. And who said they're getting along? I certainly did not. Here's some Ron for you! And even more coming next chapter.

_wron_ – I'll do my best, which in part is why I made this shorter.

_Lizz_ – Thanks very much. As you can see in this chapter, he's going to get an idea, but as I've said all along, I'm never telling all the details. You'll get to know more, though, and probably all you'll really want to. Also, I think you mean "mollified."

_Flixie_ – Oh, dear. You won't like me this week, either. Sorry, but a girl's gotta pass those classes. Thank you. And, darling, you waited for JK to get them together. Take solace in the fact that my way will be much quicker.

_hns_ – I think you're being pretty hard on him. His bride ran out on him. That's a hard one to get over! As far as Hermione sneaking around, do you not remember all the times she spied on people under the Invisibility Cloak? I don't think it's too farfetched that a few years of being on her guard constantly will make her more prone to spying, even on Ron. But I wouldn't worry too much. Hermione's a fighter at heart.

_sandy _– Thanks. I'm sorry about the ANs, but it's been too long now. I'm set in my happy AN ways. I'm trying to figure out how to mark the beginning, though, I really am.

On to the chapter!

Disclaimer: If I owned HP, I wouldn't have to worry about doing well in school, would I?

"What are you doing here?" Why be polite, witty, or sweet when she could be abrasively blunt?

Ron pointed over at Harry mutely. Hermione swung to face him; Harry's face colored instantly and his eyes dropped to the floor. Shrugging, he mumbled, "I had to."

"You had to?"

Harry's head shot up. "I've never done a damn thing that was important without Ron. Sorry that you two've got another spat going, but I'm not about to change now. You asked for my help, and this is one of the conditions that goes along with it."

Hermione could only think to counter with, "It's not a spat."

"That's what I said." Ron was still smirking, but the corner of his lip had curled in a highly unpleasant manner. "I was overruled."

"And will continue to be, so you can both keep it shut from here on out," Harry said in a final sort of tone. "Kregan is a possible Death Eater and he has it out for Hermione, and whatever you say, Ron, I know you don't want her dead."

Ophelia's eyes flicked towards Hermione for the briefest of instants at the words "Death Eater." Hermione silently willed her not to say anything to the contrary. She'd tell Harry if she had to, but she didn't quite yet.

Ron, meantime, seemed unimpressed by Harry's argument. "Sure, but I also saved Malfoy's life. Three times. So it's not exactly saying a lot."

"You like me better than Malfoy, and don't bother denying it," Hermione said absently. "He can stay if he's going to contribute," she told Harry. Her fingernail scratched into the surface of her desk making a tiny screech of protest. She hated being surprised these days.

"Kregan ran into his secretary last night." Ron tossed a tiny piece of folded parchment onto Hermione's desk; the paper was the same brilliant white as the kind his notes had been written on. "Got her take on it. Seems he came in for some files. He couldn't get them and got all bent about it. She asked what was wrong, he snapped and pulled a wand on her, so she ran for it."

Hermione unfolded the report slowly. A voice filled her ear. After a moment, she recognized the strange chirp of Mrs. Oiseau. "Mr. Kregan hadn't come in for weeks," the woman seemed to whisper frantically. "Then last night, he shows up just as I'm about to leave for the night. And he just rushes into his office, muttering about security being strong and Miss Granger – that woman that's been showing up every lunch, bit rude if you ask me – and I just go up to ask him how he's been, what he's been up to, and I grab his hand. Well, he snarls at me. Yes, absolutely snarls! I say, he snarls at me to let go, so I do, but I did see something just before I let go. Something sort of red and yellow, almost moving. I didn't get a good look. Anyhow, he takes out his wand, so I took to my heels, I can promise you. And you can go and tell him I quit, next time you see him. I've never had such a fright in my life!"

Hermione smiled. "You fixed the defect. I never did know what made it come out so squeaky."

Ron shrugged. "It wasn't me. Luna did it." Off Hermione's look, he added, "I used to give her projects I thought were lost causes to keep her out of my hair. Turns out she's decently handy with things. She doesn't think along the same lines as most people, I suppose. George and I use her sometimes when we get stuck. What was the thing on his arm?"

"If there was something on his arm, it must be a Dark Mark, right?" Harry looked between his two friends, confused.

From the corner, Randy spoke up. "Not if it's on the right arm, mate."

"Then it is something else entirely," Faiz added.

"Something much worse." Ophelia's voice was barely audible. She seemed to be shivering slightly, her eyes blank as she stared at nothing at all.

Gloria turned to Hermione, solemn-faced. "Was it on the right hand, Hermione?"

Hermione hesitated, then nodded slowly.

Pascaline hesitated before asking, "And eet waz red and gold, waz eet not?"

"It doesn't mean anything," Hermione insisted bracingly. "You know we defeated him. He's gone, and nothing Kregan does can change that."

The room was snapping with tension; the faces of the recently come home travelers were taut and nervous, the ease they'd felt the past month was gone with a few words.

Ron broke the moment.

"What?" He looked around irritably at all the worried expressions. "What is worse? What could possibly be worse than a Death Eater?"

Harry nodded in suspicious agreement. "What the hell aren't you telling us?"

And there it was. The question she would have to answer, but still … couldn't. She had taken the assignment to avoid another war, to keep the wizarding happy and innocently safe. Just like the Muggles were every day.

Every single member of her former team gazed at her with determination. A general consensus; tell what she had to, but not the whole truth. They weren't ready, either.

Hesitantly, she started. "There was someone else. Another wizard. He was like Voldemort, on his way to becoming intently powerful and gathering followers. We sort of … caught him early on."

"But he's gone, right? So what makes him worse than Voldemort?" Ron crossed his arms, exchanging a look with Harry.

Hermione sighed. "He wasn't … worse. Finding an active follower is worse. Voldemort is dead. He was a little more complicated than that."

"Which means … ?"

"You don't want to know, ok?" Ophelia's eyes were still distant, but her voice was sharp. "You had your fight. This is ours. If you don't need to know, we're not telling you."

"Come off it," Ron scoffed loudly. "I think we can handle …"

The sound of a chair clattering to the ground clammed him up. Ophelia strode over to Ron, shoving her robe's sleeves up as she went. Hermione winced at the all-too-familiar scars peppering her friend's arm, as deep and raw as the day they were inflicted. Breathing shallowly, Ophelia laid the tip of her left index finger on the pulse of her right wrist.

The skin of her arm began to glow a bright red that lit her face madly. Slowly, a yellow strand light wove its way through the red, establishing a curving path from her palm to her shoulder; a thin orange string followed it. Then it the colors erupted into movement, becoming rich shades of skin, flowing and twisting in dizzying patterns, disappearing under the rolled-up robe.

Hermione stood up as well. She thrust forward her arm, touching her finger to her wrist. Her arm too gleamed a bright red and began to write with lights. Pascaline mimicked her; her arm turned white, then ran with light blue and purple; Faiz and Randy's arms became deep blue with green tones overtop when they ; Gloria's arm became forest green with brown twig-like strands weaving overtop, like a jungle canopy.

Harry and Ron were unreadable, trained by years of unpleasant surprises; but Ron's hands were clutching at sporadic intervals, and Harry's eyebrow was twitching just beneath his scar.

"The red is fire," Ophelia tutored monotonously. "Blue is water, white is wind, and green is earth. They're rankings in his army. Fire, then water, then wind, and earth last. It's flashy," she concluded derisively, looking down at her own arm in disgust, "just to prove he's a bigger badass than Voldemort."

"If you couldn't tell," Hermione added, her voice soft and brittle, "we were the undercover team. Which is why we all have the markings of Polyjuice Potion. We couldn't exactly show up as ourselves, especially me."

Abruptly, Ophelia tugged her arm back, letting the sleeve fall back down. "Thing about that Polyjuice Potion is," she commented, tone as dry as sand, the slightest hitch in her paused breath, "you're screwed if they catch you without it."

A muscle in Ron's mouth hardened as the implications of that statement sunk in.

Hermione noted the change with a kind of savage pride. Maybe Ron would finally learn to withhold judgment on first impression.

Then again, it was Ron, so maybe not.

"We do not question your bravery." Faiz's voice seemed to flow through the room, settling the mood like he was smoothing down ruffled feathers. "But it is our wish and our duty to protect you from more harm than you have already suffered. Miss Granger will decide if you need more information, and we will all abide by her judgment. It has never failed us before."

Hermione couldn't help beaming at Faiz a little. Harry and Ron, however, didn't seem to know how to respond; from the looks on their faces, it was obvious that the idea of a new but already gone villain with a thing for glowing arms and being told they were being told nothing for their own protection were equally incomprehensible. Ron had taken to shaking his head like a dog ridding himself of fleas, while Harry's eyes were narrowed to snake-wide slits.

"I have one question," Harry managed to get out. "What's so much worse about this bloke's followers?"

"The problem of the curious cat, y'know." Randy tipped Gloria a wink as the latter grinned, her teeth showing up menacingly against her dark skin. "They know more than they should from all the snooping."

"Which we learned from all our snooping," Gloria added.

Hermione only realized at that point that all of their arms had been re-covered, including her own. The glow had faded, and it was odd to see the harsh lighting of the yellow bottled fire lighting up the room as if nothing had happened, as if it were another day at the office. The feeling of a finger brushing down her spine did not.

"Someone's watching," she blurted out, the realization coming to her in an instant. "That's why they destroyed my barriers – they're watching me."

She rushed out of her office without another word to anyone.

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The broom hovered precisely forty-nine feet and eleven inches off the ground, one inch less than the illegal height of a broom within twenty yards of a Muggle residence. Wind wound around the woman on the broom, rustling though the twigs and curling her hair softly against her face. Fingers flexed and relaxed against the wood of the wand; it was lifted up, suspended just in front of her face. Her eyes were closed calmly, but the arms, stretched out ramrod straight to support the wand, were quivering with anticipation.

This woman waited on her broom suspended in the middle of the air, waiting for something, or someone.

Hermione could not help her, even though she was her. Hermione was somewhere outside of that woman, in the tiny place of her mind where she went to solve problems. Except this time, she was doing something a little bit different.

Ever since Ron and Harry had mentioned seeing magic, she'd been trying to find if for herself, and not just others. She was near desperate to see what her own magic looked like. Every time she cast a spell, she willed herself to see the tiniest glimmer of lavender, a speck of extra shimmer, anything that might be the visual representation of what came out of her wand every day.

It was only days ago she had discovered it, in this place where she generally went to think things through. Now, it was amazing to her that she hadn't made the discovery before. She was very glad she had, too. Since she knew what she was looking for, it was much easier to search her magic for intrusion.

So there she sat, in that tiny part of her mind, the magic floating around her like a deep violet fog. Arms outstretched and eyes wide, this small Hermione tried to wade through what felt like a sea of purple, unsure if she would see it, or feel it, or what, exactly, would happen. Vaguely, she knew hours had passed, but it didn't seem to matter much. She simply kept gliding through magic, dedicated to finding that intruder inside of her.

Then … it was there. She felt it. No, she saw it. Tasted it. Smelled it. Heard it, touched it, knew it instinctively. It looked black, felt like smoke, tasted like blood, sounded like screams, smelled like burning flesh. For a moment, she was in it, and could almost hear something above it, a man's voice that sounded familiar. He could be the one that was screaming, she didn't know. Intoxicating fumes wrapped around her, keeping her heady with terror and thrills. She wanted to let it take over her, forget all the other things she knew and sink into this abyss. She laughed shrilly, harshly.

Three figures rose to her rescue. The faces of Ophelia, Harry, and Ron flew to the front of her small Hermione mind. They would not forgive her for giving up so easily.

And so she fought back. She stepped out of the smoke; as soon as she was out of it, it lifted up out the places it had hid and formed a large cloud of dark and screams. She sent her magic after it. Like a surge of waves, the purple collected itself, then threw itself at the dark. The two struggled, bits of cloud and magic disappearing every so often as they curled around each other, strangling and incorporating the other as much as it could. Soon, the cloud was nearly gone, the last of it covered on all sides by violet shimmering fog.

With a snarl and a scream of that man that Hermione knew she knew, the last part of the cloud launched itself at her.

The woman on the broom was Hermione again, and Hermione was falling. She was falling and screaming, her fingers cramped around her wand and her eyes stuck shut, and for the first time in a very long time, she couldn't think of a spell to save herself.

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The man clutched his hand, shrieking and retching as all of the skin from wrist to nails was consumed by flame. He pointed his wand and choked out a spell, to no avail; the flames ate at him eagerly, undeniable in their hunger.

As the man collapsed to his knees, the fire began to shrink. Slowly, it unwrapped itself from him, traveling back down to the tip of his wand. It molded itself into a tiny ball, flared, and went out.

The room was suddenly dark, leaving nothing but the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of wet, ragged breathing.

AN: I'll admit, it ain't my favorite. But then again, I got three hours of sleep last night, so what do I know? I'll try to update even sooner next time. Oh, by the way, I've got a blog up at tv-dot-com (they don't usually let me put up web names, so that's the only way I can write it), so if you want to talk TV, head on over. Just find the review I did of "Pushing Daisies: Fun in Funeral," and click on "sweetiepie1019" then "blog." Anyway, all beside the point. Hope you enjoyed it, even if I didn't particularly. Love? Hate? Review!


	11. Chapter 11

AN: I know, I know. It's been forever. Cut a girl a break! I've got me some work to do. I didn't even get off this week, just yesterday and today. But never fear. I'm done school December 18th, and I don't back until January 28th. So there's that to be thankful for. I honestly am so tired from helping wrangle tiny children all day that I have no idea if this is any good or not, but I'm hoping it'll do. I'm in the car back home all day tomorrow, so I wouldn't be able to post this until sometime Sunday, and I think you guys want this sooner rather than later. Am I right? Wonderful. On to the Anons:

_Sugarbaby_ – Thanks! And I so know the feeling. Does school not appreciate all my fanfiction writing/reading needs? I will do my best.

_Gi_ – Glad you're having fun. And we'll see about that. I'll do what I can.

_Shonnarae_ – Thanks very much. Aw, dude, you're making me blush! Who doesn't love a broody man?

_flixie6_ – You're welcome. Sorry about the delay, but they gave me a project over Thanksgiving on top of all the final studying I'm doing. College is hard.

– Can't say I'm sorry to hear that. It's funny to me, keeping Ron and Harry out of the loop. Especially Harry. He spent so much time being the only one with all the cards, it's great to see how frustrated he is when he's the one in the dark.

Alright, here it goes. If it sucks, don't blame me. Blame my family for having seven kids under the age of nine and only two older kids willing to help babysit. I'm so sleepy …

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I would've hired professional babysitters and watched "Numb3rs" tonight instead of "Ratatouille" for the third time.

_"IMPEDIMENTA!"_

Almost precisely halfway to the ground, Hermione encountered the curious sensation of being suspended in midair after a sharp fall. Her stomach, which had shot straight up to her throat, was crawling back down to her belly and was trembling uncontrollably. Body entirely immobilized, her eyes nonetheless shot open, and she saw the stars up above her, and felt absolutely nothing beneath her but air. Her entire body felt numb, the blood moving sluggishly through her brain but pulsing intensely in her fingers and toes, the hair on the back of her neck and her forearms prickling; old scars burned with intensity, the strain of her new position, back half curved and limbs askew, pulling them beyond their limits.

To say the least, it was an unpleasant sensation.

The thing to be glad for, she mused, was that it could hardly last much longer. As she was thinking that, her suspended state ended with a sort of snap. Once, again, she was hurtling to the ground with no idea what to do about it

"Oof!"

The ground was good deal softer than she'd remembered. And person-like. She'd therefore fallen on a person. Ah. Her brain, which had become a sort of white blank spot in her head, began to work again.

The first thing she realized was that she wasn't dead. That became a very important fact and she took to muttering, "I'm not dead, I'm not dead, I'm not dead …" very rapidly under her breath.

"No, no you're not. But if you don't get your bloody elbow out my bloody lung, I might be."

It was at this point Hermione realized a second and third thing. The second was that Ron had been the one to cast the spell and the person who had broken her fall with his body. The third was that she was still on him.

Coughing, she rolled over the ground beside him. She crouched feebly and concentrating on not breathing so hard. The grass beneath her came into focus as her eyes, which had started to water from the wind rushing by as she fell, dried out. Her fingers knotted as more violent coughing wracked her body; her throat felt as though it had been set on fire.

A groan emitted weakly from her right. "I know you never took to brooms, Hermione," Ron remarked hoarsely, "but the basic concept is to stay on them."

"I'll remember that," Hermione managed to choke out. She fell to her side, chest still heaving uncontrollably. "Thanks," she added as an afterthought, staring up at the stars and feeling all sorts of giddy now that she had solid, packed earth at her back.

"Yeah, well," more groaning ensued as Ron rolled onto his feet, "if I'd let you die, Ginny would've thought I'd pushed you or something. Then I'd get the seat by the door in the Burrow at Christmas."

Hermione could help chuckling a little. "If you'd let me die, do you think Ginny would let you live until Christmas?"

"And this year's the one I'm s'posed to get a scarf instead of a sweater, since Mum noticed I never wore mine." Shakily he stood to his feet, flexing his fingers experimentally.

From her position at his feet, she gave him her best scrutinizing glare. "Why were you back here?"

"Harry said you'd come this way with a broom. I thought I'd come take the mickey out of you for a bit." He'd begun to shake his head at odd moments, like an animal expelling water. "More interesting question is, why were _you_ back here? You fell off without even moving, and you screaming, and y'know … sort of glowing. Wait." Comprehension lit up his face slowly. "What kind of magic were you doing up there?"

Hermione sighed, letting her head flop back down into a patch of moss. "Something I found in this ancient book Harry's got tucked away in his collection. It's one of Dumbledore's, I think. And whoever's been watching me? I don't think he'll be trying anything like that again."

"Yeah?" Ron extended a hand down to Hermione; gingerly she took it, quaking a little as she was hauled unceremoniously to her feet. "Makes sense. He doesn't have to do much work if you go around trying to off yourself."

"I wasn't trying to 'off' myself, Ronald," she countered, rubbing her legs ruefully, trying to get the feeling back into them. "I find it peaceful up there, if you really want to know."

"Peaceful?" Ron snorted. "You hate heights. You hate brooms. You used to say that if I wanted to sit on a twig a hundred feet in the air, that was my business, but you fancied yourself a bit more sensible than that, thank you very much."

Hermione stopped rubbing at her arms to look at him. "Those were my exact words. How did you remember that?"

Ron shrugged, focusing his energy on leaning painstakingly against a nearby tree. "You said it a lot. Doesn't explain why you were up there."

Hermione didn't want to answer and remind Ron of all the reasons he had for hating her at the moment, but she didn't see a way out of it. "Guard duty," she said as casually as possible. "We would have to get in a high vantage point and cloak ourselves, so we could see anyone coming in time for a mass move of camp. I spent hours up there, with nothing to do but sit and wait. I still don't like flying, but being higher up in the breeze … I'm not sure. It's nice, I guess." She tried to stand as nonchalantly as possible, hoping that Ron wouldn't jump on the opportunity to point out her absence. Again.

For a moment, something like sadness passed over Ron's face. Just as Hermione did a double take and began to regard him in earnest, it was gone. "I dunno where it was that they taught you flying, but here's a tip. Do magic, especially big, silent magic, on the ground."

Apparently deciding that he'd helped her enough for one night, Ron turned abruptly on his heel and vanished with a familiar crack.

Hermione could do nothing but blink with surprise for a few minutes. Then she tilted her head to look up at her still-hanging broom. Silently it drifted back down to her, nudging her gently in the same manner a dog asks for forgiveness after it digs up the yard.

Hermione took off down the path towards the Potters' house, her broom trailing just behind her the entire way.

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Three hours later found Hermione sitting in front of a roaring fire, hands wrapped around a cup of hot chocolate. The liquid rippled and jumped, disturbed by fingers that could not stop trembling. Hermione's eyes were glazed over, and her lip was a stark white from lingering between her teeth for such a long time.

Harry dropped down silently on the floor beside her. "I don't think we've had a fire in there since we moved in. What happened?"

Removing her lip from her teeth, Hermione took a quiet sip of chocolate.

Harry pressed on. "You do realize that you were the last person to light a fire here, right? Which means that you're either really upset or Ron's done something wrong and you're attempting to burn his apology note."

"Ron doesn't write apology notes to me anymore," Hermione noted, taking another small sip.

"Which means you're really upset."

Deliberately, Hermione blew on the surface of her chocolate, making tiny waves of brown lap against the edge of the mug.

"You're really not going to tell me, then?" Harry shook his head. "C'mon. You spent years telling me everyone and everything that irritated you, and now you're keeping it shut?"

"I fell off my broom."

Harry's face contorted as he tried not to laugh. "Is that it?"

"Because I was fighting off the person who was watching me."

Harry was no longer in danger of laughing. In fact, his face, turned scarlet with the effort of concealing his merriment, rapidly lost color and got the look of someone who's just been punched in the stomach. "He came to find you? He was here?"

"No, I mean magically," Hermione amended. "And Ron saved my life."

"Ah." Weakly, Harry reached for a small stone from the bowl of brightly colored rocks perched on the table beside him. He took his wand out and pointed it at the stone. After a moment of intense concentration, the tiny thing gave a shudder, before melting out of its shape, elongating, adjusted itself. Moments later, Harry was holding a mug the same sky blue as the stone had been. Harry then turned his wand to Hermione's cup and muttered a charm; the tiniest drops of liquid floated up and rolled slowly through the air to the rock-turned-mug, and tipped themselves slowly over. Steaming hot chocolate poured itself into the mug until it was full to the brim. As soon as their job was done, the beads of brown dropped unceremoniously to join the rest of the beverage. Harry took a large swallow, ignoring the heat that it radiated.

Hermione smiled slightly at her friend, her gaze still fixed contemplatively on her drink. "I did what you two were saying earlier. Looking at the magic, I mean. Only, I was looking in myself instead of at someone else, and I suddenly found it. There was this thing tucked in there and I … sort of fought it. I beat it, but it knocked me off my broomstick. Ron caught me. In a manner of speaking," she added ruefully.

"Hermione, you are the single most brilliant person I've ever met," Harry informed her in a slightly high-pitched voice. "And Teddy Lupin could tell you that doing dangerous spells alone thirty yards up in the air is stupid. Where did you even get the idea to …?"

"I found a book in your library. _Specialis of __Veneficus,__ Utriusque Atrum quod Lux lucis_. Dumbledore's handwriting's all over the pages. Very neat notes, of course," she stipulated hurriedly, as if afraid that Harry would look down on his old hero for having bad penmanship on top of the already unthinkable crime of writing in a book. "There was a chapter on spells for watching and tracking, and there was only one that could break through the sort of barriers that I had on me, and the book didn't have any idea how to break it, just that you could. It's called "Con Occhi di Fuoco." It's … not nice," she concluded lamely.

The corner of Harry's eye twitched. Hermione took that to mean he had barely checked his inner teenager's desire to roll them. "Yes, Hermione. But what does it _do_?"

"Actually, it's less of what it does than the steps you have to take to make it work. It's fairly difficult; it'd take a powerful wizard to …"

"_Hermione_."

"An ancient curse, originating in Italy. First known use in 1472," Hermione rattled off, sounding as though she'd written the chapter herself. "The person who performs the curse makes a sort of bargain with dark magic. For example, if a person creates a Horcrux, they must forever give up an entire soul – unless they feel remorse, which hardly ever happens, of course. In this case, the dark magic is almost life-like. While the spell is in effect, the magic lives in the host's body and the victim's. As long as it remains undetected, able to mingle with the magic of both hosts. But if it's thrown out of the victim, it takes something from the original caster."

Harry leaned forward, eyes intent. "It _takes_ something?"

"Yes. Generally a limb, most likely the hand or arm."

"And it does what?" Harry prompted tensely.

Hermione shuddered. "It watches you. Anytime, anywhere, in spite of absolutely every kind of magical block. It's powerful magic, Harry."

He didn't reply, which was good. There was something else she needed to say, and it was hard.

"In the notes, Dumbledore wrote the word 'Introspection' next to the spell. Well, considering what you and Ron had learned, I realized had to mean looking in at your magic. That's where it was, of course, nestled down in my magic. And I think – for a moment, Harry, only a moment – it was telling me to join it, and I was listening. I'm not sure what there was to join, exactly, as it's the result of a spell, which according to Vladimir Putchkin's Thesis of Relative Being …"

"You didn't join it, I take it," Harry clarified.

"Well, of course I didn't," Hermione snapped back waspishly, "and that wasn't the point, thanks very much. No, what I mean to say is, it was _asking_ me to join it, though I didn't really realize it at the time. After I fought with my magic, it sort of screamed as well. Only … I knew the person. The man who was talking and screaming. But it wasn't Kregan."

"Who was it then?" Harry asked urgently, sloshing some chocolate onto his Aurors robes as he leant forward.

Hermione shook her head. "I haven't the slightest idea. I know that I know it, but I still can't place it. But Harry, do you know what this means?"

"Kregan has help."

"And I know the person who's helping him." Hermione stuck a thin finger into her cup and swirled her drink around a little. "Ron was decent to me. Actually, truly decent."

Harry looked down at his own mug forlornly. "You know what this hot chocolate needs? Firewhiskey. With a Butterbeer on the side." He stood up to head off to the kitchen, leaving Hermione to stare into the fire by herself once more.

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London had many pubs, and many of those many pubs were suspicious and dank. However, the pub in which Kregan sat was probably the most suspicious and dank in the entire city, had anyone bothered to compare. The barkeep was using his own spit and the corner of his apron to clean the mugs, surveying his dingy place with a lidded eye; stubble covered him from the hairline next to his ears to the collar of his jacket, and dirt had sunk the crevices of his weathered face. Only a few customers had chosen to occupy the dirty wooden tables and benches, and none of them looked exactly savory. A woman in the back had a slightly drooped face and nails at least six inches long and covered in red. Anyone close by could have guessed it wasn't nail polish, but there few people sufficiently brave to get close enough to confirm that it was some sort of blood. At the end of the bar sat a man with sallow skin and vacant eyes; his robes were torn, and beneath was nothing but unidentifiable darkness.

Kregan fit in with his surroundings. The hooded figure with whom he sat did not. There was a certain way in which he sat, his back stiff and head regally erect, that indicated to anyone who cared to see that this pub was not good enough for him. "This is really the best you can do, eh, Danny boy?"

"I'm being tracked by that Mudblood and Harry Potter, if you hadn't noticed," Kregan commented, agitated.

"James Daniel Kregan, hiding out in a dive, eh?" The hooded man's disgust was apparent, thinly veiled under smooth tones. "Bet your dad'd have a thing to say about it. Couldn't even be evil properly, could you?"

It was though Kregan had been dealt a physical blow; his yellow skin quivered with rage as he hissed vehemently, "Do not forget who you're talking to. I have risked much to get where I am, and I will risk more to get where I'm going. Don't become someone who gets in my way. And don't believe for a second," he added coldly, "that I'd be speaking to you if you weren't a family friend. You are frankly of little use."

"Of little use am I, Danny?" The man's amusement temporarily tempered his dislike. "I s'pose that's fair, after all. I handed you Granger, but that's just the Mudblood, isn't it? Too small of a fish for you to catch."

"Handed?" Kregan's lip curled in a sneer, his eyes drifting lazily down to the edge of the long black robe's sleeve and back up to the shrouded face.

"I offered you weeks of intelligence, and still she hunts you," the man replied, a bite lingering in his voice. "You shouldn't be so obvious of your hatred or your plans, _Kregan_, lest you come to the same end as your master."

Kregan's chair shot backwards as the former flew to his feet; his eyes burned red as his wand pressed into the depths of the velvet hood. "You go too far!"

A clink echoed around the cavernous silence; the red-nailed witch paled as Kregan's murderous eyes flashed to her, pinning her to the spot, helpless as a bug on a card. Every being in the pub was frozen with unbearable tension.

There was a collective intake of breath as the hooded figure raised his hand. Silently, he wiped away the spittle that had shot from Kregan's quivering lips and then flicked it to the side dismissively. He stood up in a labored manner; when he was finally straight, it seemed to the occupants of the bar he must be at least ten feet tall, though in reality he probably didn't quite reach six. With a sardonic tilt to his glass, he drained his Firewhiskey in an instant.

The slam of that glass on the table chilled all that heard it.

"I can't go too far, Danny." The light voice had gained a controlling quality that couldn't be denied. "Where is your master now? Defeated by that Mudblood that still dogs your heels. She counts me as her ally, does she now? I'm still here. I'm still fighting. I won't worry about getting in your way, because you have to be careful not to get in mine."

Whatever else Kregan might be, he wasn't stupid. He stayed silent. He was stuck in a position of reeling back, shocked and defensive, like a master bitten by an obedient pet.

"The plans to the Ministry, if you please."

Kregan rummaged through his pockets, tremblingly producing a roll of blueprints, sparkling at the corners with the remnants of large amounts of magic.

"And the files."

Immediately Kregan whipped out a stack files from the same place as the blueprints; the foremost had written on it in tiny boxed litters, "Ms. Hermione J. Granger," and seemed to be the largest of the lot.

The be-robed head nodded curtly. "Good work, Danny. I'll send for you when it's necessary. Keep your head down in the meanwhile." And with that, the man swept imperiously out the door and into the busy London street beyond.

Everyone in the bar instantly relaxed. Kregan, for his part, dropped down to his seat, white and shaking. He had no idea what had come over him, how the dynamic between him and his conspirator had changed. Nothing is more upsetting to one who craves power to find he doesn't know where the power in a relationship lies. Besides, as Kregan reflected, bringing a numb hand up to wipe his sweating brow, the man had taken control of the room so completely without once taking out his wand.

Things were different now.

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The next morning found Hermione in a tumble of emotions glazed over by a night of staring at the ceiling of the house that wasn't hers and drowned in three cups of coffee without cream, sugar, or artificial flavors. Wand a-wobbling, she attempted to break through the complex spells she had placed on her office door. Thirtieth time was the charm, after all.

"Paranoid, then?"

Startled, Hermione jerked back her wand hand, succeeding in whacking herself in the stomach and partially knocking the wind out of her. Clutching the front of her robe and the knob of the door, Hermione managed to wheeze, "Hhh…hello, Ron."

"Gorgeous image," Ron commented conversationally. "You'll make some man very lucky, eh? With this and your thing with canaries, you'll have another bloke within the week."

Hermione shook her head, stopped, nodded, stopped, then decided to concentrate on breathing.

Ron snorted altogether unkindly. "Well, I've had all the beautiful images I can stand for today. Harry's got me looking into Kregan's work in with the Aurors when he worked in the department, so I'll be by later this afternoon. Try and figure out how to open a door by then, alright?"

He strode down the hall, leaving Hermione doubled over and entirely confused.

AN: This chapter got written out of the course of two weeks, with much stopping and going. Plus my current state of being while writing most of the last two sections over the last two days. I hope you enjoy it. I'm off to enjoy a shower … Love? Hate? Review!


	12. Chapter 12

AN: I know, I know! I've been trying to get this thing up for three weeks now. I have these three reasons for you – Exams. Neglected friends and family. Christmas. What can you do? Per usual, I had to write this piece by piece, but this happened more often than it has before, with the result that besides the last few paragraphs, this was all written two or three sentences at a time. Considering this, I have to say it turned out pretty well. More description was needed than I would have liked, but other than that, it isn't too bad. Yay! Also, I know this chapter will open up a lot of new questions. Not to worry. The next installment will answer the some of the things I've put in here and other stuff you've been wondering since day one. Don't worry, that one will definitely be up before the week is out. Sorry about the fact that it will be the Christmas chapter, meaning it will be late, but we can all be happy that I have more writing time until I get a winter semester job, right? Wonderful! On to the anons:

_R/Hr is TeH 1 _– As you can see for yourself, people have strong feelings about the characters that color their opinion on this story. I wouldn't give up on Ron forgiving Hermione, though I would question to what degree and in what capacity.

_someone mysterious_ – Thank you. I never loved Lavender. I do think that I've mentioned that Lavender will pop up at some point, though very different from how we left her in HBP. As for Hermione, I wouldn't judge her quite yet. Wait until you've got all the facts and remember that Hermione has always been an essentially good person, and that leaving without a good-bye seems a little OOC, yes?

_Sugarbaby_ – Glad you liked it. This one probably won't give you much LOL moments. You wanna know a secret? I'm not sure how this will end either! Pretty much have it planned out, of course, but there have little tweaks to the thing day by day, so that it only has the same skeleton that the original idea did. Fun, right? I know this took forever, but I do what I can when I can.

_flixie6 _– You work at Disney? Awesome! I once got lost there. Sad part? I was sixteen. Heh. I loved Epcott a little too much … Ron is so one of the best characters, right? It's always been a tie between him and Hermione. Generally, in the movies Ron wins; books, Hermione. Aw. Thanks for the compliment. Always nice to hear. And I'm sure you can write worth a dime! Perhaps even two.

_Shonnarae _– Well, thanks. It's always nice to hear that this is someone's fav fanfic. That is, in fact, the point. It's great when someone likes both of the characters, because I do, too. Here it is, and I hope that I did.

_jessie _– Thanks, and you too! Here you go, and I hope you haven't forgotten about this already.

_nevertob_ – Sorry that I didn't get this up very quickly. This doesn't have interaction so much as it has a moment. Next chapter should give you more of what you want, though.

_lucy_ – Happy to hear you enjoyed it. Sorry this took so long. I'll do better, I promise!

By the way, in case I hadn't mentioned it before, kudos on getting the hits on this all the way up to (and past) 10,000. Thanks for keeping up with this. Ok, enough AN. Let's get on with it, shall we?

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, my family would be getting way better Christmas presents. Sorry, Mom and Dad! I lurve you …

Top of her class in Hogwarts and barrister training. Youngest member of the Office of Law to try and win a case in front of the Wizamagamot. Helped Harry Potter defeat Lord Voldemort. Played the largest part in saving the world a second time, mostly using her wits and magical skills alone. Walked through fire – twice – and lived to tell about it.

But in the better part of three decades, she had gotten no better at Wizarding Chess.

"This is a horrible sort of torture, Ope," Hermione informed her friend as she contemplated the chess set. "I will never win. I didn't beat Ron or Harry once, do you know that? And still you make me play against you at least once a week."

Ophelia smirked as she moved her pawn to take Hermione's remaining knight. "You've saved the world twice, hon. I feel the need to remind you of your Kryptonite, Supergirl."

"What?"

"You know what? They should teach you pop culture down at Hogwarts." With a flick of the wand, Ophelia's queen flew across the board to corner Hermione's king. "And chess. Check."

Hurriedly, Hermione dashed her castle over a few squares to save the king; instantly and without mercy, Ophelia's queen raised her scepter and smashed it down on the parapet. "Harry once told me it was good for me to lose at something."

"That's what I said. Harry is a smart guy after all. Brilliant, in fact."

"So long as he agrees with you." Hermione timidly moved a pawn to her monarch's defense. It, too, was crushed to the board. Her king turned about to shake a fist at her and began berating her in a very squeaky sort of voice. "Ron was always the best at it, actually. George can't even … couldn't even … oh, dear."

"And this is why we decided not to talk about Ron tonight. Or I decided for you. But you can now see it's a good idea. Check." Ophelia's pawn had happily scampered over to Hermione's queen; the poor queen slumped over pathetically as the tiny pawn, too small to actually damage her majesty, gamely pushed the large piece off the board bit by bit.

Hermione's remaining knight gallantly took a last brave stand in front of the beleaguered king. His horse pawed at the white stone beneath it and tossed its head at the grinning queen before it. "So what do you suggest we talk about?"

"Christmas?"

With a swift and malignant blow that made both girls jump, the knight's head was taken off with a clean break that would have made Nearly Headless Nick sick with envy. His horse took off with his temporarily cranially deprived body to the other side of the board.

"Checkmate!" Ophelia cried hurriedly. The queen lowered her scepter and drooped sadly. The defeated king threw his crown at her feet and took off in the other direction.

Hermione's face lit up. "It's Christmas?"

"Next week." Ophelia grinned as she swept up the busted chess pieces into an inglorious pile, cornering the knight's nervous horse with her elbow. "Been a while, right? First Christmas three in years. My family's coming from Ohio and … Herm? What's happening in that super brain of yours?"

Hermione snapped out of her trance and shrugged sheepishly. "I was just remembering … I thought we weren't talking about Ron tonight."

"Ah. Got it." Ophelia kept the eye-rolling to a minimum. "So any family plans in the coming weeks of holiday joy and whatnot?"

The smile was wiped instantly from Hermione's face.

"Oh, God, Herm." Ophelia became instantly distressed; she rushed over to her friend. "You know that's not who I meant. Or what I meant. You know that I'm an idiot and I say the first that pops into my head and that I'm so, so sorry." Her arms wrapped around Hermione. "Hon, please forget I said that."

"It's alright," Hermione murmured into her friend's shoulder. "It's been a long time, hasn't it? I just haven't gone back there."

"I know, sweetie. I didn't mean anything by it."

Smiling sadly, Hermione pulled back. "It's been two years. I'm fine, really. And you're completely sure that I can stay with here for a while?"

Ophelia reluctantly let go, sweeping her flat with her newly freed arms. "Babe, you've got the run of the place as long as you need it. But Harry didn't exactly kick you out."

"Ginny was getting tired of the two of us together, I could tell. We were always leaving her out at Hogwarts. I s'pose she's worried about the same thing now. And you-know-who – er, I mean the man we aren't talking about tonight – he keeps coming over. It's horribly uncomfortable for everyone." Hermione sighed. "I haven't been on my own in a long time. I lived with the Weasleys right after the war, and then I moved in with Harry. I only had my own apartment for a couple months before Ginny moved in. And then … well, the point is, I'll get on my feet soon. I'm sorry to dump myself at your doorstep."

"Don't say that," Ophelia chided briskly. "I'm sorry that you have to live with me."

Hermione, eyeing the bright orange wall across from her, chose not to reply to that particular sentiment. "When we're done with all the aftermath of the mission, the reports and all, will you be moving back to America? And after we've caught Kregan, of course."

"And leave you alone with Specs and Copper? Not a chance." Ophelia ruffled her friend's bushy hair affectionately and bounded to the door. "Time for guard duty. Who doesn't like spending their free time watching some dude's office? Especially one that's definitely not coming back."

"Say hullo to Pascalaline for me," Hermione remarked to her friend cheerily, ignoring the obvious jibe.

The door clinked closed. Hermione stood up to go to her room. Something, a noise, made her pause. She looked at the chess set. From the pile of limp and battered chess pieces rose Ophelia's queen. The shiny ebony piece shook herself free from a clinging pawn and began to pace across the board, reveling in her newfound freedom. Every few steps she hit her scepter on a square where she had defeated another piece, tossing her stone head as if she had hair that flowed instead of scratch marks intended to be curls between her high collar and her shiny onyx crown. A small crowing sound emitted from the tiny thing as she reveled in her victories one by one.

Hermione grinned with admiration at the tiny thing's audacity. Happily she scooped the large novel she had put down next to her chair and headed to her new room for a comfortable night with a good book.

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The Ministry was quiet at night, and empty. The arches of the main entrance curved menacingly into the dark; they loomed, ancient, world-weary, judging the activities of the wizards and witches scurrying like ants below them. Over the years they had picked up some magic of their own, seeped deep into the marble and giving them a little bit of consciousness. After the last workers had left, they stayed, and in deep inhuman voices they whispered their woes and their worries of the corruption they saw and of the evil they could predict.

Directly in the middle of the arches poured the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Still broken and beheaded, it flowed down a sick sort of path, from severed necks to chipped knees, splashing off the dents only to hit a magical barrier and sent back into the pool. The water's disjointed journey echoed off the marble, mixing with the chatter of the vaulted ceilings. Together they blew through the empty halls and chased into the dingy offices, tears and memories and dire predictions winding touching every corner trying to find someone to listen.

Deep into the bowels they searched that night, as they did every night. And finally, for the first time since the rule of Voldemort, when whispers of doom were expected and ignored, were two people waiting for something. Listening for something. So the bit of awareness that those large arches had absorbed extended themselves to them, eager to tell, eager to warn, eager to judge, eager to advise, eager to speak., which considering her size was saying a lot, shivered violently.

One of the two figures, practically a miniature compared to the other, shivered violently. "There eet eez again."

"It's just the fountain up front. Nasty sounding, right?" The other person, the other waiter, shook out a few strings of blonde hair from underneath her velvet hood. Annoyed, the wind blew and rubbed up against them, making them stick to her face. She reached up to settle them back into place and pulled back yelping. "Static," she explained to her companion, shaking her hand vigorously.

Swiftly, it stooped to the ear of the shorter woman and murmured a name. The woman's eyes widened. "Eet cannot be."

"What can't be? That Randy thought that fish would keep in his drawer for a week? Because yes, that is the funky smell we've been inhaling for the past hour. When are the lovebirds relieving us again?"

"No, Ophelia." Pascaline shivered violently. "Eet eez different. Eet eez something …"

She never finished her sentence.

Both she and Ophelia at once seized up; their eyes went blank, unseeing. Their hands clawed uselessly at their throats – for a while, at least. First Pascaline, then Ophelia, slumped against the floor of the hallway.

A man emerged from the pillar just behind them. "Spying is hardly a proper pastime for young ladies, wouldn't you agree Kregan?" He glanced around. "Kregan, get out here!"

A moment or two passed before another man scuttled out from behind the pillar. He lifted up his hood to reveal the pale and frightened face of Daniel Kregan.

Kregan hadn't been doing well since the last time he'd been in the Ministry. He was bent over perhaps permanently, like a puppet whose master has let go of the strings. Lines ran rampant across his green-tinged skin, and brown bags pulled on his eyelids. His hands trembled and bunched together; the knuckled were knurled like knots in a tree, while the fingers had elongated and curved, jutting out from the palms at odd angles. His robes hung loose on a shrunken frame. Hair threatened to fall from his head every time he took a step.

Hurriedly, he scurried over to his master. The other man sneered at Kregan distastefully. He pointed at the two women lying expressionlessly on the ground. "Those two were keeping a watch on your office, Danny boy. That wasn't nice, was it, then?"

Mutely, Kregan shook his head.

"They always were repetitive with their spells," the man commented nudging Ophelia with his foot. He reached down and chucked her under the chin fondly with his good hand. "Hers were strong, though. It seems a shame to dispose of them in this way. Time to let dear Ms. Granger know that her troops are down. Kregan, if you would."

Head hung, Kregan rolled up his sleeve. He touched a finger to his wrist. Flames of light leapt over his skin. One of the red lights lifted off of him, rather like a scarlet snake waking from a long nap. A blob filled at the top where it had raised – a head. It twitched and swung around to face Kregan.

Sweating, he informed it, "Go get her."

Swiftly, the light tore itself from Kregan's arm, slithering down his body and across the floor at lightning speed. Gasping and clutching his arm, Kregan fell to his knees. His master pulled out his wand and pointed it at his pathetic servant.

"Get up, you fool. She'll be here in a moment."

A groan distracted him. Pascaline moaned and stirred languidly, her eyes gaining some life. "Ophelia?" she slurred.

The poor lookout never stood a chance. The master swooped down to her, stripping a glove from his left hand and grabbing her face with it. Charred skin ignited upon contact with the French woman's delicate face; she cried out, she writhed, she grabbed at her assailant, but to no avail. This time, when she went still, her chest became immobile as well, and the puffs of cold air that rose from her companion's lips did not blow from her own.

Across the city, Hermione woke up with a scream as a band of light wound itself around her arm with a touch like fire.

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Four pairs of feet pounded through the cold white hallways of the Ministry. In the front of the group was Hermione, pale as tiles below her, flowing through the stairways and pillars like a sprite, small and swift. Far behind her raced Harry, Ginny, and Ron, trolls in comparison with her light step.

Ron huffed in a deep breath and sputtered it out, lurching into a wall as he rounded yet another bend in the twisting staircase to the bottom of the Department of Mysteries. "Where …" He wheezed, grabbed at the railing, and began again. "Where did you learn to run like that?"

Up ahead, Harry was doing fairly better, but only just. "You used to g-g-get winded walking down the stairs in the morning."

Hermione didn't notice either comment. Her arm burned with greater intensity with each step, but she knew she was going the right way, and a great fear spurned her on. This had happened once before, and it had ended with her moving up the rankings.

She reached the end of the stairs and ran into a large stone door. Ancient carvings swirled up and out of sight; with a shimmer and swirl, they twisted into new designs as she approached. Grey leaves, flowers, horses and deer mixed to form barriers across the intricate metal door handles. Across the lock formed a diamond, each with a magic beast imprinted on it – dragon, sea serpent, griffin and sphinx. In the middle of all these lurked a dark splotch with two slits for eyes.

Hermione had seen this kind of defense before, but she hated it. Screaming recklessly, she slammed her fists repeatedly into the door. Bright blood surged from her hands down through crevices of the designs and dripped onto her cloak. Disregarding this, she pulled out her wand and pushed it right up against the door.

A white ball of light erupted from the tip and rebounded off the gate. It burst into several bolts of a sick sort of green, one of which ruffled Ron's hair as it went past.

Hermione shrieked helplessly again, throwing her wand to the side and hitting the door once more with ripped flesh.

She was pulled away by tiny, confident arms; chest heaving, Hermione buried her face into Ginny's shoulder.

Harry broke calmly through the tension. "How do we get through there, then?"

"Search me," Ron replied, a bit of worry coloring his voice. "Are we sure anyone's behind there? Ophelia and Pascaline were s'posed to be up near Kregan's office."

"Hermione's been right so far, hasn't she?" Harry pointed out. "Randy and Gloria were right where she said they'd be."

"Well, they were the lookouts for the hour, weren't they? And Faiz already got them to St. Mungo's," Ron persisted.

Ginny snorted. "And Ophelia and Pascal just evaporated did they?"

"Or they could have gone to the pub or over to Pascaline's," Ron replied levelly. "It's just past midnight. Jumping to conclusions at this point is … well, pointless."

"Better than your theory about Crouch, I'll admit." Harry looked over at the friend still buried in his wife's robes. "Hermione?" he asked hesitantly.

She looked up at him with dead eyes.

"I know how to open it."

Painstakingly, disgust etched all over her face, she peeled back her sleeve. The red light that had wrapped itself around her sank down into her skin, leaving deep bruises and shiny burns all over her arm. Hermione barely glanced at it. She kept her gaze on the door as she tapped her right wrist with her left fingers.

Fire the same color as phoenix's tail streamed from her to the door, making her gasp with an unbearable pain. The door shrunk from the flames; the barriers receded, the flowers and deer returned to their rightful spots, and the stone slabs swung backwards into the room beyond.

In the split second before the doors hit the walls, Hermione saw the odd scene before illuminated in that pale, ghostly light that had lurked at the back of her mind since fifth year. There was the same stone archway, although she could now hear the whispers that Harry had once told her about, taunting and alluring at the same time. A body lay at the feet of the odd shrine, while another hovered like a sick sort of puppet just in front of the fluttering veil.

Pascaline's mangled face was visible to her friend for only a moment before the force of door against wall broke whatever spell had been holding her upright. She wavered, then fell without a noise through archway and into the veil.

A sharp gasp and few swear words crackled through the silence that followed. Hermione, however, said nothing. As soon as she had seen the door, she had known what lay on the other side. The numbness that she always felt upon seeing death was invaded only by the tiny unbelieving voice echoing in her head.

_Not here. Not supposed to happen here. Supposed to be safe here. She was supposed to be safe. We were all supposed to be safe …_

A hand rested gently on her shoulder. After weeks of wanting and waiting, she barely cared when she half-turned to see Ron standing behind her, fingers gripping her bracingly. The slightest hint of fear played on his features, and he knew she was thinking the same thing that she had so often in recent times. These things were supposed to be behind them. These were the demons that they had already faced. If only he knew what this meant for them.

"_Nex Ago Hic_," she murmured. Her voice echoed throughout the room.

Ron's hand shook slightly. "_Nex_ means death, right?"

She nodded. "_Nex Ago Hic_," she repeated, a tremor rocking her voice. "Death Lives Here." She shook him off her and went over to Ophelia, lying on the floor below where Pascaline had just disappeared forever.

Death. The small conscious wind of the Ministry awoke truly for the first time since a member of one of the oldest Wizarding lines had died in its domain. Tearing through the offices and courtrooms, it boomed out its defiance. Again and again it thundered wordlessly – death!

AN: What do you think? Too dramatic? I know that many of you are wishing that it was Ophelia. Shame! Especially when she is teetering on the brink herself. The good news: Next chapter is answer chapter! Tell me honestly, though, what you think of this, as it may be the darkest thing I've ever written for fanfiction, and I could really use the constructive criticism so I can move forward with a better idea of what y'all what. Alright, peace. Have a happy holiday, whichever one you celebrate. You guys rock! Love? Hate? Review!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!!!


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Gah! This chapter took on a life of its own. Started the day after Christmas, and it sort of snowballed and … wow. It has exhausted. I hope you like it, though. You'll get more answers next chapter, too. I'm all sorts of giving! But I have other fics to attend to, so it'll definitely be a longer wait. Anyway, hope you all had good, clean fun this holiday season. Heh. Alright, I'm out of writing energy. On with the anons!

_lucy2525_ – Good to hear. Thanks. And, er, now.

_katerina _– Thanks! And you as well!

Lot less of those than usual, huh? Less reviews, too. I would be upset, but given time between chapters and the holiday season, I will smile pretty and move on. Let's go, shall we? Oh, one thing I'm not sure came out clearly. All of this but the last two parts are Christmas Eve. The rest is Christmas Morning.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't start all the chapters with one of these, would I now? No, no I wouldn't. I have no creativity today, so just stop reading this and start reading the damn chapter! Please.

_Through the years we all will be together_

_If the fates allow_

_Hang a shining star above highest bough_

_And have yourself a merry little Christmas now …_

Bleak hospital walls echoed the old Muggle Christmas song. The various reverberations mixed and distorted the carol; the end result was anything but cheery. This suited Hermione just fine, as cheery was the absolute last thing she felt.

Five days at St. Mungo's. She hadn't left the hospital since Ophelia was first brought in. She wasn't leaving until Ophelia left, either. Hermione wasn't one to lay blame on someone unless they deserved it, especially on herself. She knew was to blame now. She had known what she was up against and hadn't wanted to take it as seriously as it warranted. She wanted to feel safe again. Her friends had paid the price for her foolishness. This was an undeniable as her name, as the smell drifting eerily from Ophelia's roommate, as the fact she had dated Krum to make Ron jealous. Never had she done something so obviously stupid and dangerous. It was too hard for her to handle on her own.

So she waited for Ophelia to wake up. Then she wouldn't be alone.

A Healer woke her from her reverie with the smallest of throat clears. Hermione tilted her head up from Ophelia's limp hand, where it had been resting for the past hour or so. Her forehead felt uncomfortably sticky.

The Healer, a busybody sort named Bonnie, flashed her yellow teeth at Hermione in a familiar manner. "There ya are, love," she said in a deep voice that soothed like honeyed tea. "Your friend here is doin' just fine, don't you worry. She'll be up and about in no time."

She paused, waiting for a reaction. She got none; she persisted as if nothing had happened. "You know, dear, you've been here for quite some time now. Maybe it's time you let one of your other darling young things come and look after Ms. Danes here for a while. Go on home and get some sleep."

"I live with her." It was the first thing she'd said that day. It came out scratchy. Like Professor Binns' voice. And just as male. That was probably from the lack of water and resultant dehydration.

"Well, I'm sure one of your friends would be 'appy to lend you a couch, if you don't mind me sayin'," Bonnie continued. Her wand was zipping about Ophelia, checking organs, breathing, blood pressure, and many other medical things that Hermione knew surprisingly little about. She knew everything. Why not about this? "Especially Rusty over there." Hermione turned slightly to see Ron standing in the hallway, leaning inelegantly against a wall, deep in conversation with Faiz. Bonnie chuckled. "Red hair, tall, and more freckles n' a Dalmatian has spots. A Weasley, ain't he? Went to school with his dad and mum, I did. Came up a year behind, but I'd know that look anywhere."

Hermione blinked the sleepiness out her eyes and smiled noncommittally.

"You just think on wot I said, eh, dearie? And have you a Happy Christmas." With that, Bonnie swung out of the room.

"Happy Christmas, Bonnie!" Randy plopped down in the seat next to Hermione's, grinning madly. A bit of the gauze wrapped around his head dipped down to his eyebrow, making him look somewhat dashing, in a goofball, off-putting sort of way. "Having a good one, Miss H. J. Granger?"

"It's not good for those healing spells to get drunk, you know." Ah. She was female once more. Still scratchy, though.

"Aw, come off it! It's Christmas, m'dear. I'm celebrating putting off meetin' Gloria's oldies." Off Hermione's look, he elaborated, with much waving of hands. "Parents! They were supposed to come tonight, but with my large head injury, they've put it off. I've got the little Sheila all to myself on this most wankerous of holidays."

"You sound very Australian when you drink," Hermione observed.

Randy winked broadly. "No worries! Get you a beer, my shout."

Gloria's head poked in around the door. "Ah, Hermione," she said regretfully, hurrying to her boyfriend's side. "I was taking my potion and he got away from me."

"Who gave him alcohol in a hospital?"

"No one did." Gloria sighed loudly as Randy, who towered over her by a couple of feet at least, leaned against her awkwardly, tipping her slightly off balance. "I don't know where he got it, to be honest. But you can hardly be surprised, can you?"

"I s'pose not." Already, Hermione's hand had moved to cover Ophelia's.

This did not go unnoticed. "Look, we're only going to be here for another day or two, so when we get out, do you want to …?"

"G'day, St. Mungo's! It's your dear mate Randy here, and I'd just like to say I'm full as a boot! Off my face! PLONKED, that is what I am!"

"Oh, no. He got away again." Gloria ran out into the hall to catch Randy, who was currently humming some sort of bouncy tune into an old man's ear.

Hermione dropped her head back onto Ophelia.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione."

Harry Potter was the absolute only person in the entirety of London that she would raise her head for at that moment. Well, one of two. And the other was standing just beside him, so it was irrelevant, wasn't it?

She looked up at two of her best friends with red-rimmed haunted eyes. She looked at them and saw all the changes in them that she no longer knew. As much as she wanted to drop her head back down, she owed them more than that.

"Look, we know how hard it is to have someone in the hospital, alright?" Harry seemed to have rehearsed this speech. "We even had you down with Madame Pomfrey once. But you can't blame yourself for what happens to other people …"

"You do."

"I did, and look where it got me." He didn't have to say Sirius' name. "Being an Auror has made me learn some things. Or look at things differently. I don't know. But I know that you can't worry about everyone who takes your orders, because you're just doing the best you can. And if you're good at your job, that's the best anyone can ask. How could you know that Kregan could get the better of two well-trained witches?"

"I knew." Which, when she thought about it, was the saddest thing of all.

A loud snort interrupted her self-pity. "Too bad, isn't it? It's happened and we've things to do."

Harry shook his head frantically, but it was too late. Ron had decided to go off script.

"Don't you remember all the times Harry drove the two of us mad playing the hero? Don't you?" Ron demanded. "You're not helping a damn thing sitting here and it's about time you gave it up. You aren't spending Christmas in this place, and that's that."

He dipped his hands under her elbows and scooped her up. And he led her past Harry, and Faiz, and Gloria, who was desperately trying to pry Randy off the pillar he had magically stuck himself onto ("Screw you as well, sir! And a grand Christmas to you, you rather large woman. Now that was just rude …"). And he led her to the elevators, and held her as they went down. And he took her out the entrance to the store window with ratty mannequin staring down at them.

"Now," Ron said with an unquestionable authority, "you can come to the Burrow, though I can guarantee Mum will do something unpleasant to your stuffing and George might do something unpleasant to your person. You can go over to Gloria and Randy's. I hear that Gloria will be making eggnog, if she can ever get that git of hers off the hospital wall, that is. Or, and this seems the best option frankly, Harry set up a Floo so you can head off to Hogwarts and spend the Christmas with Neville. Luna and Dean are visiting him tomorrow, so you can see both of them as well. But whichever you choose, you are not to go back in there, and you are not spending Christmas alone."

"You're being nice to me." Not the cleverest thing she could think of, to be sure, but definitely the most effort she was currently interested in exerting on speech.

Ron's ear tips turned a very pastel pink, but his voice stayed strong. "A temporary truce brought on by Christmas and your friend in Mungo's, yeah? I'll be back to being an arse come tomorrow."

She nodded. He'd grown up a lot.

"And as long as we're having a truce, I want to do this."

Gently, he slid one hand through her hair to cradle her head; softly, he leaned down and kissed her just once on the lips.

"I'm gonna be horrible to you again tomorrow," he whispered into her skin before letting her go.

He turned around quickly just as he set off to go. "Oh. And I told them to play that Muggle carol. It's your favorite, right?" She smiled briefly in confirmation. "Right. Happy Christmas, Hermione."

He took a few steps, whipped around in the drifting snow, and was gone.

Hermione took a deep breath. And another. Suddenly, her world shifted back into place, so much so that she almost heard a click as everything righted itself around her.

"Hogwarts, here I come," she murmured as she twisted her head to face the mannequin.

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Fifty-seven countries. Five continents. Every romantic city that all the dime novels are set in – Venice, Paris, Barcelona. Every power city that all the big companies are in – New York, Tokyo, Hong Kong. Moscow. Mumbai. Mexico City. Even L.A. Toured all the major monuments, museums, buildings, sights, and even schools, Muggle and wizarding alike.

Of all the things she'd seen, she loved Hogwarts most.

Hermione didn't go straight down to Neville and the feast when the fire spit her out on the floor of the old common room. Instead, she took as much time as she could to explore everything again. She ran her hands over the smooth red velvet of the armchairs, taking particular time at the biggest and lumpiest the furthest from the fire. She had not only spent many nights studying there, away from Fred and George's raucous parties, but had kissed Ron for perhaps the fifth or sixth time, two nights after Voldemort had been defeated. He'd scared her, sitting in her favorite spot at one in the morning, but he'd made up for it. She'd been so giddy, so terrified, and so excited she was pretty sure that if she had stopped kissing him for a moment, even to catch more than the quickest of breaths, the adrenaline would leave her and she would pass out from pure … well, bliss.

Then she climbed up the girl's staircase. The stairs still didn't quite align after the shaking the giant's had done to the foundation of the castle, and the new placement of the trick stair almost sent her midway down to the next floor. Inching the door to her old room only a crack, she peeked in at the four-postered bed that once had been hers. Another girl's discarded robes hung haphazardly from the edge; her trunk was gone, as she'd obviously gone home for the holidays.

As she exited the portrait hole, she glanced up at the Fat Lady's empty frame and laughed. Gone to drink herself silly with Violet, and snap viciously at the remaining students come next morning.

Her fingers trailed delicately over ever stone, torch, and doorway she passed as she took the longest route she knew to the Great Hall. There was the room where she had made a feather fly. The staircase that had moved under her so violently she'd actually squeaked with fear. The hallway where Fred had died in front of the brother he had just forgiven.

"Oi! Oi, you! Students are s'posed t'be down in the Hall! What're you doin', sneakin' around up here?"

A great black monstrosity of a cat with piercing green eyes appeared from the shadows, weaving its way through Hermione's ankles. Just behind it emerged Argus Filch. His hair was greasier than ever, and teeth were wrapped around each other in more places than she remembered.

She glanced down at the cat, currently pacing just behind her and eyeing her disdainfully, with surprise. "That's not Mrs. Norris."

Jowls quivering with rage, Filch advanced on her. "Trying to upset me, eh? Trying to get in m'head? Missy, I'll have you in detention quicker 'en you can say …"

"Hello, Mr. Filch!" Neville came hurrying down the corridor, hands up in appeasement. He tipped Hermione a hearty wink before facing the trembling old man. "You remember Hermione, don't you? Hermione Granger? Friends with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter?" Filch's nose wrinkled cluelessly. "Oh, come on now, you must remember Harry Pot … You know, she's a friend of mine, alright? Come by way of Floo."

"Right you are, Professor. Come on, Ms. Woodhouse," Filch muttered slimily. He shuffled off, his cat following inches behind.

Before Neville could turn around, Hermione had thrown her arms around him. "It's so good to see you, Neville!"

Neville pulled away hurriedly, stuttering, his face the color of the Gryffindor hangings in the hall just above him. Apparently some things hadn't changed with his new position.

"McGonagall called me as soon as Sprout called it quits," he informed her happily as they fell in step on the way to dinner. "Said she didn't know anyone better qualified. Of course, she'd probably heard that Gran was trying to force me into the Ministry, same as Dad. Couldn't see I'd never trust the place again, even with Kingsley running things. Too many bad memories."

"I know the feeling." Hermione shook her head and smiled. "I'm so proud of you, Professor Longbottom. I'm sure your Gran would be as well."

"There are just some people you think will live forever, aren't there? But she had a good life, Gran did. Ended up scaring three Healers away that tried to treat her, towards the end."

"To be honest, Neville, your Gran scared me as well."

"Me, too."

He pushed the large wooden doors open, and there it was.

Snow cascaded into midair from the giant domed ceiling. Garland, mistletoe, and bright red bows hung from the chandeliers. The usual tables were gone; instead, there was only the high table, speckled with teachers and a few students halfway through a magnificent spread, all piled on expensive-looking silver and a gaudy tablecloth.

And she knew why she loved this place most of all. Stoic, ancient, powerful all clashed with gaudy and over-the-top, with stunning beauty and sparkle. Hogwarts had seen what may have been the greatest war of all time, and yet it stayed the same, unassuming, taking the good and the bad as it came. It had educated the greatest wizards of all time, not least of which were Lord Voldemort and Harry. And it had taken the time to look after her. At Hogwarts, a werewolf could teach, a giant squid could live in the pond where students did homework, and a diadem could hide in the dusty depths of a secret room for decades. How could this not be the best place in the world?

The saddest thing was this: She had just realized she had outgrown it.

"Ms. Granger? Is that you?"

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she smiled at the stern old woman. "Hello, Professor McGonagall. Happy Christmas."

A squeak emitted from the end of the table; moments later, a glass of pumpkin juice fell to the floor with a dull clunk, spattering orange liquid all over the bottom of the tablecloth. An ashamed sort of squeal came from the area as the person sitting there whipped out of sight to Vanish the juice before Hermione caught a glimpse of them. Her. Him. Er … it.

McGonagall sniffed loudly. "Ms. McKinley? Are you unable to keep yourself in check while guests are around?"

From beneath the table, a young girl replied with the utmost embarrassment, "S-s-sorry, Professor."

A mop of dark brown ringlets rose from just behind the meat pies. A pale face full of freckles and wearing a miserable expression followed. The young girl, for she was now plainly a girl, still had pumpkin juice dripping from the edges of her glasses. She began to tuck into her plate at lightning speed, keeping her eyes glued to the rapidly decreasing pile of food on her plate.

Curious, Hermione looked around at the people sitting at the table. Most of them had returned to their conversations; indeed, they didn't seem to have left them. She concluded that this could hardly be the first time that this girl had knocked something over.

Neville settled in a chair between Nearly Headless Nick and the young girl. "Hermione, this is Nadia McKinley. She's the brightest witch of her year. Tops at Herbology, especially. She's spent half her time here buried somewhere in the library."

Nadia chanced a look over to Hermione; when she saw the older girl smiling at her, she blushed a bright pink and dove back into her pudding in high haste.

Hermione took the seat to the girl's other side, opposite Neville. Nadia let out a faint whimper. A fork slipped from her grip, hit the leg of her chair, and flew off into the middle of the empty hall. Looking as if she were literally dying of horror, Nadia sped off after it.

With a generous guffaw, Nick lowered his voice so it wouldn't carry and floated across the table a little to get closer to Hermione. "You're her hero, you see. She was supposed to go to some school in Russia, but she asked her mother to send her here because you went here. Half Scottish, you know. Hasn't been able to stop talking about you since Professor Longbottom mentioned you might be coming."

"I'm her hero? Are you sure?" Hermione craned her neck, viewing the little thing with renewed interest. She looked about ten, but her smooth reattachment of the head of the fork (it had become decapitated at some point between the journey down the stairs of the dais upon which the table was situated and the abrupt, crunching halt it had received courtesy of the stone wall a few yards beyond them) suggested at least third year. She couldn't help seeing bits of herself in Nadia; but then again, there was a bit of Neville there, too, and the hero worship (if that's what it was) simply screamed Ron.

She swung right-side round again to see Neville grinning. "You know how those war stories go. Everyone talks about Harry. A lot of people talk about you and Ron. A couple people talk about Luna, Ginny and me. You're not only the cleverest witch of your day – don't try denying it, Hermione, it's true," he added as she opened her mouth in protest, "but also the only female in Harry Potter's inner circle."

"I don't see what an accomplishment that is. There were only three of us, and Harry was already male as it was."

The conversation was cut short as Nadia, clutching her mended fork, returned to her seat.

If she was this girl's hero, as little as she deserved it, it was only right that she tried to reach out to her or something. She leaned over towards Nadia. "You know, my favorite subject was Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall was always best at explaining the complex theories."

The curls bounced as Nadia nodded giddily. "Transfiguration is one of my favorites as well," she agreed, the hint of a heavy Russian accent coloring the edges of her voice. "We work on tortoises just the other day. Mine was the best by far, Professor McGonagall gave me ten points for Gryffindor, but my friend Will said he fancied it was still blowing steam." She frowned for a moment, apparently thinking of the great injustice Will had done her. "Herbology is my best subject by far, though. Professor Longbottom's even been getting me to help with some bubotuber pus he's been diluting. We've got a few pints now, it's made Madame Pomfrey happy. Will isn't allowed to help. He's brainy, right enough, but he's hopeless at anything practical."

Neville cut through his student's sudden outburst with an evil sounding chortle. "There's a rather nice story about Hermione and bubotuber pus, actually …"

"One we won't be telling tonight, thanks very much," Hermione insisted with a warning glare that once would have sent Neville into a frenzied apology; instead, he merely folded his arms and grinned contentedly. "Let's hear more about your schoolwork, shall we?"

Nadia was more than happy to oblige. Once her initial fear of Hermione had been conquered, she was only too happy to go on for the entire meal about her life at Hogwarts – her classes, her teachers, and her constant academic competition with her best friend Will. There was a spark in her eye every time she said Will's name that definitely reminded Hermione of herself at that age. Ask anyone how she'd felt about Ron at the time and she'd have looked the exact same way.

Finally, the plates had cleared themselves and the diners dispersed. Nadia scampered after the other students only after Hermione had agreed to sign a book or two before she left. The teachers made the appropriate small talk with her before heading off their separate ways. Even the ghosts, with less and less people to talk to, floated off to attend to their own tasks. Only Neville and Hermione were left.

They sat in silence for a while. The old war vets – those dashing, daring leaders of the D.A., of the resistance – often did odd things like that. They'd sit hours on end, saying absolutely nothing, and not thinking much of anything, either. It was a comfort they couldn't share with anyone else, because no one else understood it. Hermione, so on edge with Ron and the Potters, so out of tune with Luna, felt strangely at peace to be able to just sit here with Neville.

Pascaline's face swam into view before her, and with wrenching pull to her stomach, the peace was broken.

"My friend is dead because of me."Neville didn't flinch at the sudden revelation. Hermione rather suspected Harry or Ron had taken the time to fill him in, which didn't surprise her. What did surprise her was what he said.

"Colin Creevey is dead because of me."

She managed to choke on the air she was breathing in. Doubling up, she hammered on her chest, sucking in new oxygen to replace the old, which she was desperately trying to knock out of the pipe it had managed to wind its way down. As everything began working properly again, she emptied an entire goblet of water down her throat, causing her to splutter, but calming the burning in her throat.

Neville, who had risen to help her only to realize she had fixed it on her own, smiled sadly. "I take it you haven't heard this story yet."

Her shoulders twitched in a confirming shrug. This was enough for Neville. He began talking, as calm as could be.

"I caught him when he snuck back in. Cheeky little scamp. Y'know, he was never good at it? Fighting, I mean. I wasn't at first. Not many of the D.A. were. But when the Carrows came, we all improved pretty quick. He was just as eager as any of us, too. Still. He wasn't any good at it. I knew that better than anyone. Who did he ask to train him besides me? The great leader, friend of Harry Potter? But here it was, the war right here, and I had to leave people who needed me to make sure one kid was ok? I told him to stay close. I told him to stay right behind me."

He sighed deeply. It was a witheringly bitter sound.

"I lost him. Couldn't tell you if he went wandering off to fight or if I was too busy fighting to notice if kept up. Doesn't matter, of course. I should've been watching him. Next thing I knew, he was trying to hold his own against a Death Eater far too powerful … far, far too powerful for him. So he died.

"I killed that Death Eater, Hermione. Not with an Unforgivable Curse, no, but I was so angry I managed it anyway. I left him there and I went off fighting, and fighting, and killing. And then Oliver Wood and I dragged his body back to the castle. I always knew how tiny he was, Hermione, but I never quite knew it like I did when he was dead."

In a very un-Neville like gesture, he reached across the table to take her hand. "Colin was young and weak and it was my job to look after him. You know you never would've done what I did. You, you and Ron and Harry, none of you would've lost him. You knew when to help someone. And when to let someone protect themselves."

"Oh." That was all Hermione could think to say, but she thought it would do.

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"George, you have to kiss him!"

"Shut it, Ron, or I'll shut it for you."

"You were under the mistletoe, George. It's only fair."

"My love, my life, my angel! There is nothing you can do that will entice me to kiss Percy. Actually, there are plenty of things you can do, but not in front of Victoire!"

"George!"

"Ah, sorry Mum. Or Teddy."

"_George!"_

"I have no desire to kiss George, if anyone is wondering, thank you very much. Besides, Mother, mistletoe is a very silly tradition, I don't know why you have it …"

"You only say that because no one's ever kissed you under it, Big Head Boy."

"Which is why we want you to fix that, George."

"GEORGE! PUT THAT WAND DOWN AND STEP AWAY FROM YOUR BROTHER!"

"Sorry, Mum."

"Ha."

"Yeh've got a right good eggnog, Missus Weasley. Ah've half o' mind to stay here through New Year's just for tha'."

"Hagrid, you are more than welcome to stay with us anytime. You behave far better than any of my children."

"But Mum, I said I was sorry."

"Ha."

Hermione didn't know how long she stood outside in the snow, looking and listening to everyone celebrating Christmas in the Burrow. It wasn't eavesdropping this time. She just couldn't bear the thought of breaking up their holiday. She had spent so many good Christmas mornings at the Burrow. They were some of the memories, some of the moments she'd sought to protect in leaving. And look what good it had done.

Winding her scarf just a little tighter, she slugged back around to the front door where she'd Apperated in the first place. Just before she rung the bell, she tilted her head back and stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake for good luck. The lacy bit of ice melting in her mouth soothed her. It also gave her an idea.

Stepping back a few feet from the house, she dug her wand out of her deep protective coating. "_Expecto Patronum_," she whispered fiercely. With a silver burst of light, an otter slipped out of her wand and down to the snow below her. It whacked the ground playfully with its paddle-shaped tail before skittering through the door to deliver her message.

It impressed Hermione that it only took Harry, Ron, Ginny and George fifteen minutes or so to find an excuse that would get them all into the old broom cupboard out back at the same time.

"When you said there was an emergency, Rainbow Girl, I only came out here because I thought I might get to see you wrestling with that last Blast-Ended Skrewt Hagrid's been hiding, or something else of such an enjoyable nature," George said by way of greeting as he burst open the entrance to the flimsy shed.

"Rainbow Girl?" Hermione asked Harry, who was clambering over her to find any space to sit in.

Ron snorted. "He's talking about your hair."

George smirked agreement and tugged on the purple lock in front. "I see a trip to the barber in your future, Granger."

"I'm sure the emergency Hermione was referring to was her desperate need for your fashion advice," Ginny snipped. "Why don't we hear why Hermione wanted us all out here? This place isn't going to hold us all for long."

Hermione cleared her throat. "Yes, well … I think it's about time you all knew what you're up against."

This had the desired effect of getting their silence and attention. Ron's mouth had dropped open a smidge. Hermione had to fight the wild desire to take it back, to pretend that she was kidding, to wish them a Happy Christmas morning and hightail it back to Hogwarts.

"There was another Dark Wizard rising in the last years of Lord Voldemort." It sounded like the beginning of the most twisted fairytale imaginable. "A young, inexperienced Dark Wizard, but with extensive skill and followers. And he was clever. Cleverer than me, I'd imagine. Pretentious, though. He believed that Voldemort would fail because his views were too vulgar and commonplace. He looked down on him for his distinction of wizards and Muggles. The important thing, in the mind of this young Dark Wizard, was to gain as much power as possible. Voldemort, you see, ran on hatred, on his own warped view of how the world was s'posed to be. This Dark Wizard only saw opportunity for gain."

The story began to take on a rhythm of its own, the result of too many nights around a campfire with little to talk about. Hermione had told this story to every new recruit, had become practiced at it. "The young wizard, however, did not want to go into the open. He had one thing he had to do first. Something he believed would make him invincible in a way that Lord Voldemort could never imagine. He gathered people to him and conquered those around him silently as possible so as to make no noise that any of the Wizarding Ministries would hear. But they did hear. They heard, and they were afraid.

"Still, the last thing they wanted was an open war. They knew too little about him. They also knew he was looking for something, but they didn't know what. It was decided that these Ministries would form together a little army of their own. Small, mobile, able to spy when needed, fight when needed. The young wizard would know that there was a resistance, but could assume it was independent. He wouldn't come in the open. But he would be fought."

She took a deep breath and fell out of the story-telling manner. "We formed for nearly a year, quiet as we could. We weren't allowed to talk to any family or friends, because we might let on what was happening. This was most important when you knew important people." She let that sink in before continuing. "We fought him. And we spied on him. We eventually found out what he wanted, and we took it from him." Ron's mouth began to work, she could only assume to ask what it was. "I can't tell you what it was. Not because I don't want to. Massive amounts of enchantments, you understand. I'd die ten different ways even if I did manage to bypass my inability to say, think, or write down what it was. This puts us at a disadvantage. You know those rankings I showed you? Well, most of those high ups knew what it is he wanted. After we beat him – and we did – they were all aching to take his place. Kregan was among those. He now wants what his master wanted. We were unable to completely break up the organization, so he probably has many of them at his beck and call. And that's it.

"Neville will be here soon, so we'll have to expand this. He's bringing most of the D.A. And Faiz, Gloria, and Randy, they'll be here, too. It's about time I stopped pretending that this is some small thing we can take on alone. I'm sorry to intrude on your holiday, I am. But as you can probably tell, time is of the essence. Kregan was looking for something last time he was there. He didn't find it, and he won't find it, and it's only a matter of time before he realizes it's not there. As you could probably tell with how he manipulated the Department of Mysteries into sending … _that_ room where he wanted, he knows the place well. We've got to get organized, and we've got to do it now.

"Well, there you are. You know what you're up against."

Ron, eyes still popping from all the new information, did have one question. "What was his name?"

"Who? Kregan?"

"No. This wizard guy."

"Oh. Right." They'd never known if a trace had been put on his name similar to Lord Voldemort, so it had become habit to not say it. "His name was … we don't know his real name. But he was known as Gualtierro."

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Across the white fields, past houses and towns, into London, past the streets and sleeping shops, into the allies where rats feasted and hags toiled to sell their wares, the master's lip curved in a wicked grin as the name was called once again.

He looked down at the sniveling excuse of man that Kregan had once been. "They're on the move. Let's do the same, shall we, Danny boy?"

AN: I said it once and I'll say it again – gah! This thing is almost nine entire pages! Officially spending the rest of my day neck-deep in "Atlas Shrugged." Or "The Amber Spyglass." Or something. Anyway, I have made at least three literary references in here if you want to look for them. Also, was it just me, or did people tell too many stories this chapter? Ah, well. I hope you're all having fun in some capacity for as long as you have off. I'm actually done through the 28th (I know!), so I'll be able to knock a few more chapters in the next month than I'm used to. Which I'm sure will make everybody very, very happy. But I have to warn you – I do expect more reviews this time around. Especially with how long this chapter is. I mean, look at it! I'm so proud. Yay.

Ok, I'm now babbling due to lack of sleep. I'm done. Love? Hate? Review!


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Oh, I am so sorry. So, so sorry. So, so, so sorry.

But what can I say? Writer's block has reared is massively unpleasant head. So after three weeks and the most reviews I've ever received last chapter, I come back to you with this. This chapter is not very good. I don't like it at all. Except the last part, which I think I dealt with decently well. But you won't like it. Other than the people who started reading this because I wrote "angst" as one of the categories for this fic. You romantic people – not so much. I'd just better get on with this.

Anons:

_Sugarbaby _– It's all good. And I'm sorry for the delay. I hope you haven't exploded.

_nate_ – Um, you're not going to like me very soon.

_lucy_ – You, too.

_Shonnarae_ – Glad to hear it. Thanks very much. And you aren't to like me either.

_Ako_ – Wow. Thanks. That's awesome.

Here we go …

Disclaimer: The only thing I have in common with J.K. Rowling is my first initial. And if we're going by that, I could've written _Lord of the Rings_.

Broom cupboards weren't meant to hold forty people at one time. Various spells for enlargement and reinforcement didn't change that. It was with great trepidation that the D.A. settled onto the crates and crude benches that served for seats.

Dry mouthed, Hermione glanced around at all the familiar faces. Neville was dressed in bright tartan robes, fake smile plastered on his face, as Hannah Abbott showed Susan Bones how well she'd stitched the sleeves. Luna was informing a scarred and pitted Lavender about the healing powers of the Egyptian Biting Moth; Dean and Seamus looked on, Seamus too uncomfortable and Dean too amused to save Lavender from Luna's friendly ramblings. Lee Jordan had a knot of admirers crowded around him as he spun a tale of an exciting interview he did with a recently caught fugitive in Bangladesh. Ernie Macmillan was deep in conversation with Percy about Ministry drivel. The old Gryffindor Quidditch lags had already convened in a tight corner, reliving their glory days and eagerly discussing England's chance at the Cup. Just like old times. Except this time Hermione knew exactly what they were getting into.

Her little army – for that's what she had realized they were – ranged out behind her, with the addition of Roland. Faiz nodded regally as Roland muttered dire predictions and advice at a mile a minute; he wasn't taking the news of Kregan's deception as well as Hermione had hoped. Still, Hermione did feel a little better to have her veteran fighters standing with her. Even if Randy was still pitifully hung over.

She was startled to feel Harry's fingers press into her shoulder. "I think you should probably start now. We've only got them for a little while."

"What do I say to them, Harry?" Hermione kept her eyes trained forward and her body still, but she let Harry hear the tremors in her voice. "They've been through too much already. We asked them to fight when they were still children. How can I ask them again?"

"Because we have to. Besides, we didn't ask them to fight the first time. We prepared them for the inevitable. I think that's what we're doing again. And you should remember that we were children back then, too, and we'd been fighting already for years."

"Harry, that is dead depressing," Ron informed him, thumping down next to his friend. "It's Christmas, mate. Not in the holiday spirit to bum everyone out." He smirked cockily. "Bill and Fleur are still keeping Mum occupied. They're bloody brilliant. Fleur actually just said they might want to have another baby. That'll keep her distracted for hours." He stripped off the cloak and mittens he had worn to trudge across the lawn to check things out in the Burrow. "So are we starting anytime soon? Because if this runs too long, George and Nessa'll be next."

"Right." Hermione stood up and took a commanding step forward. The clamor settled to a comfortable buzz, halting completely as she opened her mouth to speak.

"Hello, Dumbledore's Army. It's time to fight again."

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Winter rays of a dying sun fell despondently through the small windows of the shed. The snow crystallized and distorted the light until it cast eerie patterns onto Hermione's face. Patterns that had been there when the meeting had begun.

Roland valiantly attempted to scratch his arm while holding it stiffly at his side so as to not make any noise to disrupt the meeting. "Were we really necessary?" he asked Randy, whose head was resting tenderly on Gloria's shoulder, in a gruff whisper. "We know all of this already."

Gloria's glare silenced him. Hermione continued on, blissfully unaware of the restlessness of her army behind her. She was too focused on the captivated audience before her.

"Alright. Let's sum it up so far. You have a pretty good idea of the size of the army we assembled and the areas where Gualtierro had control or was a threat. You can see how we split into teams, one for general fighting, one for quick hits, one for backup, and a special one for … reconnaissance. We've covered the marks, the signs, and the favorite spells they use. You know rough numbers and a brief history of Gualtierro and his own forces."

There was a general murmur of assent from around the room. It impressed Hermione how attentive the D.A. had stayed over the past couple hours.

"I promise, only a few things more," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. Tapping her chin, she wondered aloud. "What have I missed … ah, yes …"

A thread of smoke wound its way comfortably out of the end of Hermione's wand. She shooed it off with a sharp flick. Twisting in the air acrobatically, the smoke quickly formed a diamond containing a small circle, as perfect as if drawn by a compass. The points of the diamond and the center of the circle faded, then began to refocus, but with more colors and shapes to them.

A loud clatter interrupted the room's intent concentration on the image in front of them. The group collectively turned to see Ron splayed on the ground, limbs akimbo and hair stuck up at as many odd angles as its length would allow, the crate he had been sitting on was tilted on its end.

A few giggles permeated the tense air, but Ron's expression, coupled the set faces of Hermione's companions and the look of disgust that Harry couldn't seem to hide, quieted them almost as soon as they'd begun.

"_Nex Ago Hic_." Hermione's soft voice carried through the room. The only other sound was that of Ron quietly arranging himself back on his crate. "It's Gualtierro version of the Dark Mark. He puts it where he kills.

"Remember," she continued loudly, to cover the sudden outbreak of gasps and cries of outrage, "remember, he doesn't ignore Voldemort. He does not disrespect him. He seeks to improve upon him. To become more … elegant. More together. He wanted to be both feared and admired, to be respected by those who followed him and those who fought him. He thought he was of a higher class than Voldemort and his pureblood agenda. Above him. The difference in their signatures is one of the most clear examples I can offer you.

"Each point is a different element, just like the mark on the arms. The north point is air – a griffin." The tiny smoke animal preened its wings and hissed at the rapt audience before it. "South is earth; the sphinx. Left is water and a sea serpent, right is fire and the dragon. Right side is the most powerful for magic, hence the Muggle saying 'right-hand man.'" Each miniature beast stretched out their head and made threatening noises and gestures. "And in the middle … the Lethifold. Gualtierro's own special symbol." The word "special" was given the slightest of emphasis, as if Hermione had to force it out. "His arm was the only one that was black. The absence of light."

"Excuse me, Hermione?" Hesitantly, Seamus rose from his seat between Dean and Lavender, wriggling uncomfortably to find enough room to stand. "I don't mean to be rude or anything. But why are we studying this man's actions, eh? We've got a whole new person to be dealing with, don't we? Shouldn't we be looking at Kregan's work?"

She hesitated. What was wrong with her? She should tell them. They deserved to know – they all deserved to know. But now she knew the dilemma Dumbledore had faced so long ago, walking the delicate line of telling Harry what he needed to know when he needed to hear it. He had misjudged with Sirius but had prevented disaster by leaving her the clues to the Hallows to Harry would come upon them slowly. She didn't know which she was doing now – coddling or protecting. Either way, looking into Seamus Finnegan's deep Irish eyes, she knew that she couldn't tell them yet. Still, she could say she hesitated.

"I've tracked this group before, Seamus," she informed him brusquely. "I know what it is you should be looking out for. Trust me. It's Gualtierro that we should be looking at."

"But I …"

"Trust me, Seamus. I haven't led you wrong before, have I?"

Looking hardly satisfied, Seamus sat back down.

And Hermione continued.

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"We were the spies.

"Ophelia, Faiz, Randy, Gloria, Pascaline, and I were in one group. Roland was with two others. Neither survived. He barely did. All of us barely did.

"We were inducted into the society. With us were millions of hairs of unsuspecting Muggles, so that we could disguise ourselves. We couldn't look like we did normally, most of us being too distinguished in our fields - or, as the case might be, too recognizable on a global scale for being Harry Potter's brainy friend."

There were a few laughs to accompany this, breaking a little of the tension her story had created.

"Yes, curses come in all shapes and kinds, including signature bushy hair."

More laughter. Hermione managed to smile.

"For months we watched and waited, feeding information to people outside. Too often we would be almost too late to avert catastrophe; sometimes we didn't even manage that. So Ophelia and I got closer. Too close, in the end. Ophelia was caught and tortured for days before we could mount a rescue. We were caught as well. And I … I helped … all of us escaped. And in the end, Gualtierro was killed and the thing he was looking for was taken."

_Taken and hidden by me_, she reminded herself.

She also reminded herself, _One of the things_.

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"You've all seen war. You know it. You know how it changes you. But as you can probably tell, the experience I had with this war changed me more than that of Voldemort's war. Maybe you won't have the same thing happen to you, but you should be warned. It's possible you might come out of this more scarred than before.

"This is why we won't be telling any of the older fighters about this. They've done enough. It really is our turn this time.

"Kregan will have the full army of Gualtierro at his back. They are trained and they are ruthless. But they've never seen anything like you before. They hide in the shadows. You've already defeated everything that dwells there. I'm tempted to quote Shakespeare, but not a single one of you knows who that is, so I'll say this instead: We are Dumbledore's Army. That still means something."

"Oi!" George burst into the shed, struggling to hold the raging snowstorm just behind him at bay, and officially killing the moment. "A little help here, O Mighty War Council!"

Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson and Oliver Wood sprang up with their wands in hand. A great globe of red magic erupted from all four of them, holding back the snow until George managed to slam the door shut.

The shed quaked. The walls shivered. A collective breath was taken and eyes turned to the ceiling above. Riddled with holes, buffeted by angry winds, and covered in three feet of snow, there were only a few spells and fervent prayers to keep the entire thing from caving in.

George ignored this general fear with his usual cheerful attitude. "Look, ladies and gents of the Weasley clan. Dear old Mum isn't having it any longer. Bill let it slip that there is no way they're naming any of their children after any of our relatives because Fleur hates British names. Now she's all sulky and wondering where Ron and Ginny's been for the last three hours and if I don't tell her soon, she's going to tear the grounds apart looking for them." He, too, at last heard the desperate groans of the surrounding shelter. "Although she may not need to help."

"He's right." Hermione shook out her weary arms and smiled tiredly at all of her friends. "I want to thank you for missing your holiday. Get back to your families."

"Happy Holidays, all of you," Harry added.

Amid the subdued chatter and scattered holiday well-wishes, Hermione sank down to the bench beneath her and hid her head in her hands. "I did the right thing, didn't I?"

She hadn't asked anyone in particular. Nobody answered.

"We'd all better go in," Harry said uneasily.

"And I'll go visit Ophelia."

She could practically feel her friends sharing concerned looks above her head. Laughing gruffly, she turned her face up to them. "And then I'll go to her apartment and have a nice, normal evening with a cup of tea and a good book."

From the raised eyebrows of George and Ron, she knew that neither of them associated "a nice evening" with "a good book," but they didn't say anything; it seemed to be an unspoken agreement that anything that kept her from spiraling back down into the pit she'd been in was a good thing. They needn't have worried. She had a focus now.

"You all go on. Just … I need to talk to Ron for a moment. If you don't mind."

She hadn't known she was going to say it until she did and she felt a jolt of nerves surge through her as she realized that she had.

Ginny recovered fastest. Clapping her hands to her hips in a pose reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley at her most terrifying, she glared roundly at all of the tiny army that had remained behind. "You heard her. Out you get! Out!"

Off they went, shooed away by the pint-sized ginger-haired woman with the fierce demeanor and terrifying Bat Boogey Hex.

Considering how many people she had just given instructions to, it was ironically amusing that Hermione couldn't seem to look at Ron's face. She settled for fixing her gaze on his freckled hands instead.

"You kissed me."

There was a long pause following this statement. Independent of her will, Hermione's eyes rose, from hands to arms to shoulders to chin and above. Ron's nose was flared dangerously, but his tone, when he finally spoke, was that of innocent consideration. "You are absolutely correct, Hermione. I did."

If he had slammed a door in her face, the message could not have been clearer. Well, that was fine. She had some repenting to do.

She stood up again and took a few steps back; not to acquiesce, but to give Ron room to breathe, so to speak. "I know I haven't been doing a lot to get you to forgive me lately. I know you're still angry at me."

"And how," Ron supplied pleasantly.

"I got side-tracked," Hermione told him, shoulders set. "But it's not just Kregan I'm re-focusing on. It's you, too."

"Stop it, Hermione."

"It's not that simple, Ron," Hermione informed him calmly. "Besides, I wasn't exactly the one to start it."

"Well, oh dearest one, let me be the one to end it."

With a grand parting wave of his hand, Ron turned to leave. Hermione was too fast for him. Quick as a sparrow, she darted under his outstretched arm and cut him off. "Who's running away now?"

"Do you deny deserving it?" he asked impatiently.

"No, I don't," she said eagerly, willing to pile the blame on as thick as he could dish it. "I mean, I'm not. I mean … I'm sorry. I really am. I know you won't forgive me for a long time, but Ron, I can "Just tell me."

"I'm not actually hearing this," was Ron's reply.

Hermione chuckled wryly. "You're surprised? I thought it was fairly obvious."

"What was obvious?"

"That I still l-"

"Don't bother finishing that sentence," Ron said with a snort. "It's been a damn long time since I've wanted to hear that from you, Hermione."

This time she moved backwards involuntarily. "Do you not understand what I've just said? All the things I did? Everything I risked to keep everyone safe?"

Ron laughed. It was an evil sound to Hermione's ears. "Oh, it's just wonderful. You're ruddy perfect, you are, just bloody brilliant as usual. I understand what you've done. What I still don't get was why in Merlin's name it had to be you who did it."

To use an expression of Ophelia's, he had finally hit upon the million dollar question. She couldn't tell him as much as she wanted to. Not that she didn't try. Her face contorted into quite a few interesting positions as she tried her best to break those unfortunate magical barriers. Mouth gaping, tongue twisting, throat producing endless unintelligible gurgles, all she accomplished was to look particularly unappealing.

In the end, all she managed to say was, "I can't."

"You can't." Ron met her eyes squarely so she could see exactly what these words did to him. The hurt and anger and sorrow she saw there threatened to tear her apart. "It's better that you move out of my way. Mum's waiting for me. It's a dangerous thing to keep Mum waiting."

She stumbled off to the side. Without so much as another glance, he swept from the shed and out into the driving snow. A cloud of flakes blew across the room to her. White crystals stuck to her lips and eyelashes and melted on her robes and into her hair.

Wiping a snowflake off the end of her nose with tip of her finger, she made a vow to the empty shack.

"You just try and get rid of me, Ronald Weasley. You'll love me again. You'll see."

AN: And it's short! My girl's getting her arsenal ready. You just wait. She's got her priorities straight now. I'm going to have fun now. You know, other than that whole war thing going on. Heh. So was I right? Are you all mad at me now? Won't change anything, of course, but I do hope you aren't too upset. Because I have all sorts of squishy-happy love for my reviewers! Especially since you got me over the 200 review limit. Yay for you! Thanks very, very much. Love? Hate? Review!


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Hey, everybody! Ok, I know. Where the hell have I been? Well, here's the answer – school started, and it was hard. I have three roommates plus me in one room, making it much harder. My dad when back the hospital and stayed there for a long time due to complications. And an old friend died in a car accident.

Anyone wants to complain? No? Wonderful.

I am sorry, though, because I'm pretty rusty. I'm not sure how good this is since I've gotten so out of rhythm with this story. Let me know if something's off but don't go too hard on me. Now on to anons:

_jessie_ – Sorry about how long it took, but here it is!

_Shonnarae_ – Thanks! I hope you feel the same about this chapter.

_FloatingBubbles_ – Wow. Thank you for the giant review. I'm glad you liked it and agreed with my points. Now, as for the angst thing … the direction the story went and the direction I intended it to go are very different. I was three chapters in and went "God, I cannot make this entire damn thing about Ron and Hermione." And from then on this thing went through a major changing process which led to what you have before you, which isn't really angst-like at all. I just never bothered to change the category. I probably should, huh? Which one do you think? Adventure? Drama? Fantasy? What? As for the R/Hr, you may like this chapter.

_bity_ – I think I took care of that.

_!HeroRon_ – Yeah, it was not the nicest thing she could've done. But I think her circumstances in part excuse her actions. Remember how Ron made her cry in the first half of the first book? And again? And again? And again? Remember how Ron hooked up with Lavender right after Hermione asked him out? Remember how Ron left Hermione and Harry even after she ran through the woods crying and begging him to back. When they were danger of their lives. While fighting the most evil wizard in the world. Now, I won't say any of the things that Ron did were worse than what Hermione did. But they were close. Especially that last one. Hermione could have died. DIED. I'm just saying.

Alright, let's do this thing!

Disclaimer: Please, J.K. Rowling. Don't sue me. I have no money, and I need to get through college.

Five wizards and witches watched Kregan's office at night. Another ten patrolled the Ministry halls, flitting around the pillars and halls without even the whisper of a cloak to inform their presence. Beyond the Ministry flocked nearly a hundred wizards, sliding into pubs and creeping through allies and avoiding the lamplight of deserted streets. One thing was on their minds: Find Gualtierro.

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Disgusting things lurk beneath the surface. Air and sun is for the creatures of the light. For all his hatred, his inhumanity, his mutation – in spite of the bloodlust which shone in dripping crimson tones from his serpentine eyes, Lord Voldemort was merely a thing of the shadows. The real dark – the pure, sinuous black – is for things which even the wizards, who imagined themselves so well informed, had no idea of.

Beneath the shining streets of London they congregated. All of them had heard a call in the same way they felt the coming of a storm or the change of the seasons or that an animal was mere breaths away from death. They resisted at first, for the most part – they knew it was a wizard calling and they were weary of wizards, who were the same as hunters to them. But in the end they came; they couldn't fight the storm or the seasons or death, and they couldn't fight this call. From the mountains of distant countries; from lakes and swamps and the darkest parts of the ocean; from the deepest reaches of the forest and the most solitary sweeping sands of the desert; from caves so twisted by rocks and cliffs that they hadn't seen a human in decades, magic or otherwise, so that the only beings that these monsters lived with were bats, bugs and the eyeless, slimy things which tend to evolve in places of no light – from all these places they came to London, to swarm by the dozen in the cavern a few miles off the underground. In spite of any possible relations between them and the proximity that 

the size of the cave and their multitude imposed upon them, they stood by themselves, gazing calmly on the figure of the Master.

A hood covered the Master's hair; a roughly hewn scarf was wrapped around his face, so that the only thing which was visible was his dangerous green eyes. His height and pose should have hardly have intimidated the creatures that surrounded him, but they judged by power rather than by sight. Beside the Master lurked a small man, loping about to do small errands for the Master, fill his water or straighten his cloak, his back curved in a permanent obeisance. He was dismissed. On the Master's right stood what looked to be a werewolf stuck in a constant state of transformation. Wide jagged teeth stretched out a human mouth, the canines piercing a hole through the lips on each side, tiny scars marking where the man-wolf had tried to close his mouth entirely and had found himself unsuccessful. Claws extended from fingers that were purple with claret veins from the strain of supporting the heavier nails. Tufts of fur stuck out from skin with patchy red bumps that seemed to throb even as the man-wolf stood still, surveying the crowd before him with yellow crescent moon eyes. He was covered haphazardly by a cloak and breeches, but his feet were completely wolf-like with no place to put a shoe. The wolf was observed by the animals with care – he was not as powerful as the Master, but he blood in his teeth and between his claws, and murder in his eyes.

All at once, the call that had urged them all to their current spot was over. They rustled their feathers and resettled their fur, yet they did not move. There was a compelling curiosity to find what brazen human had called them all together like this and showed no signs of fear.

There was a blunt silence for a few moments as they all waited for a reason for their presence. Without warning, a crack shuddered through the room. They all turned their heads, as though in a dream, to see a pillar of fire erupt over a jagged rock in a cranny near the exit of the cave. From it emerged a dozen or so wizards and witches, all draped in crimson silk robes. Another crack – a waterfall poured down from the wall, emptying out wizards in velvet sea foam robes. Another – with a rumble, the earth dented and fell in on itself, leaving wizards in hemp robes dyed green to clamber out with the skills of professionally trailed rock climbers. A last crack sounded. Wind whipped through the chamber; where it touched the ground, wizards appeared with what looked like white robes made out of pure cloud.

The Master stood forth, opening his arms up to include the creatures and the fifty or so wizards before him. "Hello, friends. We all have a score to settle, don't we?"

His words were accompanied by a raspy growl that seemed to be the wolf-man's laughter.

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Harry shifted uncomfortably again. Hermione didn't bother looking up. "I'm sorry you had to lie …"

"It's not that. Well, not just that, anyway."

"What then?"

The corners of Harry's mouth twitched uncomfortably. "Ophelia know much about decorating, does she?"

As tired as she was, Hermione couldn't help a loud bark of laughter escaping her lips. "You've been to the Burrow, haven't you?"

"Yeah, but this," Harry looked around at the orange, gold, blue and pink walls around him and grimaced, "hurts."

"It's mostly your eyesight and the striking colors. I wouldn't look at it too closely." She dragged a large chart over the rest of the papers and books now covering Ophelia's kitchen table. "Do you think that Dean is the best person to set with Luna? Won't they get, er, _distracted_?"

"Luna's always distracted. And Dean is a good Auror." Leaning over to examine the chart, Harry pointed at another pair of partners. "If you're worried, though, you could always split up Hannah and Lavender. Lavender's a fair shot at most curses and she's good friends with Luna. At any rate, Dean's 

got less nights because of his job. It'd be easy to switch them around so that Hannah doesn't miss bigger nights at the pub."

Hermione nodded. "Good eye." She made a few quick marks in the chart. "I'll leave them a few nights together, though. I don't want them spending any more time than they need to from each other."

"So you'll set me with Ginny, then?" Harry asked with a grin.

"About the time I figure out how to bring Merlin back to life," Hermione replied, eyebrow cocked in a very McGonagall-ish way. The scratch of her quill filled the apartment until the silence became awkward. Hermione sighed. "Yes, Harry?"

"You were right before. I don't like lying to him."

"Yes, well, it's done, isn't it?"

"Hermione."

Hermione's hand slammed down suddenly. The bottle of ink barely missed the chart as it skidded off the table and went crashing to the floor. She stared at it for a moment in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to have quite that strong of a reaction."

Harry nodded gravely.

Sighing, Hermione siphoned the ink off the floor. "I know you hate lying to him. But he won't answer my owls, he's avoiding me at the Ministry … what else am I s'posed to do?" She looked her best friend in the eye; her haggard face, worn from weeks of little sleep and too much worry, begged him silently. "Please Harry. I just need some time alone with him."

"I s'pose it'd be nice to have both of my best friends in the same room again." Shaking his head, Harry adopted a hangdog expression. "Only, Ron is probably going to kill me for this, you know. Slowly. With many pauses for emphasis."

"Then I will make it up by telling you how brilliant you are." Hermione smoothed her perfect chart. "Often. With multiple syllable words for emphasis."

"Won't matter much if I'm dead."

"Harry Potter, if you could die, you would have done so already, so stop complaining."

"She's got you there, Boy of Living Who Defeated That Which May Not Be Named With the Power of the Really Old Wand." Ron strode into the room with a confidence that still managed to surprise Hermoine. It surprised her to see him anywhere after all that time apart, of course. Still, it was that new jaunt, that new gleam, that new _something_ that kept catching her off guard. If she could allow herself some leniency, it was for the fact that perhaps her leaving had given him that.

Ron pulled out a chair, twirled it around, and sat on it with about as much grace as Moody had ever managed. "Having all kinds of fun without me? S'alright. Maybe tonight I'll be the one to catch Guatalaharo and I'll have some fun with you, Brightest Witch on Earth and Bespeckled One."

"You mean Guadalajara. I mean, Gualtierro. I mean …" Hermione sighed.

Harry's brow crinkled. "Are you ever going to give up the names?"

Ron considered this briefly. "No, Chosen One of Spiky Black Hair, I won't. You don't have any brothers, so, y'know, George and I take care of it for you." He flashed a cheeky sort of grin Harry's way, then turned to the chart. "I hear I'm doing rounds with Lavender tonight, eh?"

Hermione jerked around to Harry. "That's what you told him?"

Harry shrugged feebly. "I thought it was funny. Then. Now I don't."

"Yeah, I don't mind. Keep talking like I'm not here." Ron was looking between the two of them irritably. Hermione blushed and hung her head. Ron bent over the chart again. "No. Harry, you didn't …" He traced down the list of names for that night with growing trepidation. "No, no, no, no, no …"

Hermione pointed straight to the name next to his own. "Hello, Ron Weasley. Meet your patrol partner. For the next month."

"Hermione Jean Granger," Ron spat out.



Harry snorted. "I give you both a week. I s'pose joint funerals would be easier to plan …"

Ron hit his head on the table. "No!"

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He lurked in the back of the crowd. His brethren who had been chose stood nearby, but not together. They were enrap

_Deep water clear water dark and depths and truth away from the wizards_

tured with this man. He promised things that they wanted. Blood was not their element. Their blood was cold. But now they wished for it to flow. They had become angry, though anger was not their nature. They had been outcast for no reason. Pain had built up like the barnacles on their skin or the salt in their hair. Revenge was

_forests of kelp of coral float through watch sun through the top of the swirling the colors they shine and he wants it back but he can't stay he can't stay he can't stay_

the taste on their tongue, the burden on their back, and they could not see past this man's promises.

"And it is you, my friends," the man continued, his teeth bearing smile still in place, "who will bring down the forces that have smothered you for centuries. I am only here as a guide. You are the avenging army!"

There was a roar of approval.

_waves crash ocean roars not his home his world not his home_

His eyes flickered between the man and the wolf by his side. He saw no difference. They were killers. His brethren were not. He had to be ab

_cold was cool and dark was light and home was not home never what he wanted_

le to save them from their prejudices. From themselves.

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The two of them trudged through the alleys of the hidden wizard marketplace for almost two hours without saying a word. Hermione was not used to having nothing to say. Everything she thought of was too forward, too stupid, too angry, too desperate.

"_I love you and I want you to love me back, except I think you still love me you're just too angry to admit it, but I can't apologize or confess as much as you want because I'm not entirely sorry and I can't put you or Harry in more danger than you're in plus there's a spell."_

One can only dream of being so eloquent.

"It's cold," is what she said instead. Which was so much better.

Ron muttered and aimed a kick at a nearby broken rat cage by the dumpster they were passing. He missed, slipped in the slush on the ground, and had to grab at the side of the trash to keep from falling straight on his ass. He glared around at Hermione as if she had orchestrated the whole thing. Shrugging his jacket on straight, ears as red as traffic lights, he took off miles ahead of her, muttering a curse a minute.

Well done, Granger. Solid beginning. He may hate you a teensy bit _more_.

_"I promise I will do my best never to hurt you again. I mean, I probably will because we fight like mad and we both have tempers and it's sort of inevitable. But I'll never hurt you this badly again. I sincerely hope. But who the hell can see into the future, anyway? Trelawny, stupid twit, always acting so superior, I think she's just …"_

"Hold up, Ron!" she called out instead, running after him, slipping and sliding through the dirty snow.

Almost as soon as she reached him, he whipped around to face her; she skidded to a quick stop mere inches away from him, forcing him to look down his nose at her and forcing her to crane her neck up towards him. He didn't seem to notice the proximity in his anger. "Why, Hermione?"

"Well, you stopped very quickly and I …



"Hermione!"

"Right." Why did Ron make her feel like such an idiot? No one else made her feel so stupid and awkward and ugly when they hated her, and no one else made her feel more brilliant and witty and beautiful when they loved her. "You weren't talking to me."

"You made Harry lie to me. Harry doesn't lie to me – unless it's something embarrassing and he knows I'll take the mickey out of him."

"I'm sure Harry lies to you sometimes."

"What?"

"That's not what I meant," Hermione backpedaled furiously, fumbling for the right words. "I meant it's not Harry's fault. He was caught between two friends, and I was the only one there to do the convincing."

Shaking his head, Ron sighed pityingly. "I wasn't blaming Harry. I was blaming you. I'm always blaming you. Because you're always wrong."

"Oh." Hermione tilted her head up a little more since she was fairly sure she had shrunk an inch or two with that last comment. "I suppose the answer is still that you weren't speaking to me."

"I have the right not to speak to you, Hermione," Ron explained in a meticulous, condescending manner. "You. Left. I am helping you with your case, I'm nice to you when I see you … it's only been a few months, can't that be enough for now?"

_"I love you. I'm wearing my engagement ring on a chain around my neck right now. How can that be enough?"_

"Do you remember that Halloween when the troll was let into Hogwarts?" she asked instead.

His red eyebrows shot up into his freckly forehead. "Yeah. Is the point of this that I was being a git then, too? Because you were damn annoying and I …"

"No, Ronald, that is not the point. Do you remember what happened?"

He shrugged. "I knocked out a troll with its own club. By accident."

She smiled up at him, brown eyes gleaming with a little bit of laughter. "I was terrified. I couldn't think of any of the spells I'd learned. I was shivering, crying, hiding out in this corner of the girl's bathroom with a monster towering over me. And this pale little boy with horrifically bright hair and the biggest dinner plate eyes comes crashing into the bathroom …"

"Harry was there, too."

"… and he used the spell I'd taught him. Not properly, of course, nor with the correct application. He didn't think, didn't second guess himself. He just did it. He used the spell I taught him to subdue a troll with its own club. He saved me." At a look from Ron, she laughed a little and added, "He and the crazy boy who stuck his wand up the monster's nose. It felt like a fairytale and jolt of reality all the same time. I finally learned that sometimes it's worth taking risks. Probably not how you did it, it was really foolish and you could have got yourself killed … or worse, expelled." Ron's cheeks clenched as he fought not to laugh. "And as silly as it sounds, I think my life changed that day. Actually, that's not accurate. That's just a cliché. I changed that day. I'm a little braver and a little more impulsive because of you, even if it's hard to tell sometimes."

"I'm not the same person either," Ron warned her.

"You are," Hermione said calmly. "Not all the same, of course. Still. You are."

"Hermione …"

She felt the blood rush out of her head from the inflection of his voice. "Yes?"

"Please back up. You're standing too close."

_"Kiss me."_

"Alright," she said instead, and took a step back.



Ron's mouth worked for a minute as if there was something more he wanted to say. He seemed to decide against it. Rolling his eyes, he gestured her forward, letting her walk ahead of him as they continued their patrol.

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In the shadows. In the dark places of the country roads. In the forests and on the tops of the lakes hugged by fog. Over the bodies of their victims. No one saw them. But they were coming.

AN: Ok? Are we all happy now? I got them on a bunch of patrol together. Hermione's a crafty one. How about that little monologue of hers? Too cheesy? I wasn't sure. Well, this is all progressing. Hope you're liking it. Love? Hate? Review!


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Sorry it took so long. Again. This was done three weeks ago until my laptop crashed and I had to rewrite the whole damn thing. I'm also leaving tomorrow for Williamsburg, so I didn't have much time to look through it and fix stuff. Again, I'm very sorry. And very tired. If you can't tell, this took a long time to write. Both times. In fact, I've eliminated a piece and am using it next chapter instead, because this took so damn long. I hope you like it. I enjoyed writing more about Ophelia.

Oh, and by the way, so in love with the song "Feel This" by Bethany Joy from One Tree Hill. So pretty!

Anons:

_katerina_ – Thanks! And here you go!

_FloatingBubbles_ – Thank you very much. Maybe Drama. I'll fix by next chapter. Um, you may be upset come next chapter. I foresee some angst. Heh.

_loralu_ – I'm glad you're enjoying it so much. It's been so much fun to write.

_lily_ – Wow. And thanks! I hope you still think so after this.

Disclaimer: If I was JK Rowling and I lost a chapter, it'd be some sort of international emergency. Considering it wasn't, take a stab. Assume I'm not her.

The town of Duclid, Ohio was a strict sort of place. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone knew what everyone else was doing, and was constantly judging them for it. One rule governed them all – unless you were giving birth or lying in your grave, Sunday would find your ass in a church pew. Be it the Roman Catholic cathedral that was the pride of Duclid, or the non-denominational church that, while not as respected as the cathedral, was nice enough, and the youth room was generally considered as the best place for the young folk to hang out at after school.

The Danes were misfits, but at the very least they were misfits together. Mr. and Mrs. Danes were English teachers at Duclid High School. They were loved by students, disapproved of by parents, and constantly on thin ice with the administration as neither of them were fond of the school's curriculum. However, as much as they loved making chaos in their own lives, they wanted a modicum of acceptance in their town for their children. So every Sunday found Ophelia Danes' ass in a church pew, next to her parents wearing their best polite stares and her sister Katherine and her brother Robin looking thoroughly disgruntled in their fanciest clothes.

As tempting as it was, Ophelia had never hated church. As she sat through hours of Sunday school, she became fairly certain that God, if God existed, was a nice enough person who wanted the best for people, though she wasn't sure if he had the best methods. Still, she never paid much serious attention to her teachers or her pastor. To her, the Bible was a very boring version of the fairy books she read, perched up in the braches of one of the trees in the woods bordering her backyard. She sat through the lessons and imagined Jesus in a suit of armor, and Mary Magdalene as a powerful sorceress (never a princess, because princesses never seemed to get out of a mess without someone else's help).

During her time in Duclid, she was one of the most popular kids in school who had only a few friends. She would lead kids in epic mud fights and drag them through pirate wars in the little trickle of a river that ran around the city limits. When the kids would get home, sopping wet and clothes caked in dirt clumps, their parents would forbid them from ever seeing those horrible Danes children again. It never mattered much to Ophelia. She had Katherine and Robin, and her mom and dad, and her books.

About a month before she was supposed to go off to middle school, however, everything changed.

It was another Sunday, and the Danes were rushing through breakfast since they were late ... again. The window was cracked because Mr. Dane believed in fresh air without actually leaving the house. Considering the tendency for small animals and birds to attempt to get into their house (or mate on their deck), Ophelia had to wonder what would've happened if the window was down.

What ended up happening was that a small barn owl flew into the house and tumbled into her mother's Cheerio's. Milk and cereal exploded over the table and onto her astonished mother and father.

The owl was the quickest to recover. Wading tipsily out of the cereal bowl, the owl, hooting happily, made its way over to Ophelia. Ophelia, for her part, simply stared back at the owl.

"Open it!" Robin said eagerly.

Ophelia looked down to see a gold envelope attached to the little owl's leg. It was addressed to her. More specifically, it was addressed to:

_Ms. Ophelia Danes_

_Third Generation Squib_

_1550 Downing Street_

_Duclid, Ohio 55555_

"Ow!" She rubbed her finger where the owl had bit her. He was glaring at her rather soundly, as if no one had dared to keep him waiting before. Grumbling, she took the letter.

"What's a squib?" Katherine asked, looking over Ophelia's shoulder. Her dad shrugged cluelessly.

Meanwhile, Ophelia had opened the letter.

_Dear Ms. Ophelia Danes,_

_It has come to our attention that you have shown magical aptitude and a general gift for all things spell, enchanting and curse related. We would like to extend an invitation for you to join this fall's class at Elizabeth Procter's Academy of the Supernatural: A School for Witches and Wizards. Please send your response back by owl. Both messages are prepaid. Enclosed is a list of items you should bring with you to EPA's. Thank you and we hope to see you in the coming month._

_Professor Blair Stephens_

A piece of paper, a yellow as mild as the stationary the letter was written on, fell out of the envelope. Another, smaller paper fluttered down; it had two large boxes with a _YES_ next to one and a _NO_ next to the other.

Robin scooped up the list before Ophelia could get a proper look at it. "It says you need a cauldron set ... and a wand! Lia, you're getting a wand!"

The owl hooted happily.

Mrs. Danes looked over a Mr. Danes. "A prank?" she asked shakily.

Mr. Danes had a dazed look plastered on his face. "My grandmother used to do things. They were the best magic tricks I'd ever seen. I begged and begged her to teach me, but she said it was something that couldn't be taught ... you were born with it ..."

"Cool," Robin and Katherine chorused, eyes wide.

A smile grew on Ophelia's face like the sun breaking over the horizon.

A month later found Ophelia in the back of carriage, being led with fifty or so other students up a dirt road to a massive colonial style building perched on the side of a hill covered in acres of well-groomed trees. She hung her head out of the window and whooped with the sort of nameless, unbound joy children often experience without warning. A ghost floating nearby gave a wink and an exaggerated salute. She blew him a kiss as the kids behind her gasped and cooed with awe.

From that moment her life changed. She woke up deep in a forest green comforter with the sound of her roommate Mila's snores drowning out the sound of the birds outside. On her desk a potion might bubble, letting off fumes that were reminiscent of a wet dog mixed with a hint of bad eggs; or a goose feather might hang in midair, changing color like a pastel traffic light; or a book might be slumped open next to her bed, still lecturing her in squeaky voice, while one the illustrations shook a tiny fist at her. It was her own personal heaven.

Thoughts of a knight-like Jesus and Mary the Mighty Sorceress drifted from her mind as she saw her fairy books come to life one by one – and if one or two turned out to be entirely fabricated, what did it matter? There was so much to learn and see and hear that Ophelia generally felt quite ready to burst with it.

When Ophelia went back to Duclid, she rarely went back to church. The neighborhood gossips condemned this strange girl instantly (she must go to a school in a city, that was the trouble, and what the hell was she so happy about all the time anyway, none of their children acted that way, she must be up to something, that was all ...), but Ophelia didn't care. Ghosts existed, so an afterlife must exist, and what God had to do with it bothered her not in the least. Every Christmas Eve she would decorate the house with fairies and wireless Christmas lights while her family went off to mass. And in the morning she would entertain her siblings with stories of a far away place where an evil wizard battled the bravest boy in the world ... how there was a war for their lives and they had no idea...

Ophelia had never thought much about God and Her possible existence again. Well, not until she found herself caught in the corridor between life and death, that is.

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Five patrols. Hermione had been on five patrols with Ron, each of them worst than the last. She wasn't the type to regret her ideas, but this hadn't been the alone time with Ron she'd been hoping for.

After her impromptu monologue, the first patrol had passed mostly in a tense silence. Hermione had spent the next two days rehearsing a few speaking points that were both casual and neutral. Unfortunately, Ron showed up to the second patrol with George. Her speaking points repeating themselves uselessly in her head, sounding stupider and stupider by the minute, she dragged herself behind the brothers as they muttered and cackled, shooting evil looks at her the whole way.

The third patrol was accompanied by Luna. This was slightly better. Luna's blithe presence grated on Hermione's nerves but at least Luna talked to her. Ron even seemed amused in a way that wasn't entirely menacing. Mid-patrol, Luna had mentioned that Seamus had recently proposed to Lavender. Then she had gotten distracted by a clump of clover growing between two cobblestones and refused to walk anymore with them until she discovered the Clover Honeydoons that she was sure were lurking there. The silence for the rest of the patrol was more depressingly deadening than the first.

The fourth patrol, Ron had decided that while ditching his patrol shift was a bad idea, ditching his patrol partner was an inspired notion. He had actually beat Hermione to the rendezvous point and proceeded to outdistance her for almost an hour.

Fifth patrol, Hermione had adjusted this, and had arrived at their meeting place, the back of the Leaky Cauldron, half an hour early. She was there for almost an hour, wondering if he'd gone on ahead even earlier, until a waitress, clucking and sighing, had thrown a bucket of water over what she clearly thought was a drunken man leaning on the brick wall lining the trash cans. Surprising both Hermione and the waitress, a familiar redhead popped up from behind the brick, spluttering, cursing, and shaking his head like a Saint Bernard.

Now here she was, another patrol looming for the next night, and she was fresh out of patience. She was sitting with Harry on his couch, detailing her grievances in a hushed voice, the sounds of Ginny cleaning up in the kitchen from their dinner.

"And there he was, crouched behind the wall that whole time. Honestly Harry, I'm at my wits end. I can't reason with him when he's being so ... so ..."

"Ron?" Harry suggested, throwing a surreptitious look at the kitchen.

"Childish," Hermione snapped.

"As I said, Ron. But what did you expect? Ron doesn't like to be tricked."

The sound of footsteps stifled her for a moment. "If Ron would've just talked to me instead of insulting me and ducking around rubbish bins," she hissed as soon as she was reasonably sure that the owner of the footsteps wasn't coming her way, "I wouldn't've had to trick him, would I?"

Harry laughed as quietly as possible. "I thought you were the logical one."

"You told me you threw a badge at his head in fourth year when he was fighting with you."

He sobered immediately. "Yeah, well, he was being a git."

"And what? Now he's being sensible?" Hermione asked loudly. A little too loudly.

"Ahem."

The first thing that caught Hermione's was a foot tapping on the floor in an irritated rhythm that sounded like "Danger. Danger. Danger." This was connected to a leg followed by a torso, then a head, within which were eyes that spelled bodily harm.

Harry sunk into the cushions of the couch. "Ginny. Er ... hello. Darling."

Ginny snorted. "Please. What did I say about talking about Ron?"

"That if Ron and I could act like first years and that was our problem but if we brought our fight into your house you'd use the Bat Bogey Hex on all three of us." Hermione's voice took on the expressionless tone that it had when she recited _Hogwarts: A History_.

Harry laughed wryly. "That's exactly what she said. How did you ..." Off a look from Ginny, he trailed off into silence, dropping his head to contemplate his hands.

"I'm sorry." Hermione cast around for another topic. "I'm ... I'm thinking of getting my own flat."

Ginny's face was a struggle between the anger of being disobeyed and the possibility of not exerting herself by hexing her husband, brother and friend into oblivion. She settled on the latter. "You're leaving Ophelia's, then?"

"Not until she's ... better, no," Hermione amended, "but I have three years of pay that I spent to next to nothing of, so I can start looking now. I think it's time that I get out on my own."

Ginny's face softened. "Hermione ... are you sure?"

The dream that had plagued Hermione for months flickered in front of her. Ron swept off her feet ... told her he loved her again ... and carried her through the door of their old place, where no blonde man and no giggling girl were standing by their window...

Hermione had to chuckle at herself. Ron wasn't the type to swipe anyone off their feet, which was all for the best, since Hermione was hardly the type to want anyone to do any sort of sweeping to her. Of course, if Ron tried it these days, she'd let him. But he wasn't going to do that.

She nodded. "It's time."

"Erm ..." Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I guess ... we won't be seeing you here as much, then."

Ginny snorted. "With her cooking, I doubt anything will change."

Hermione laughed a little more than was necessary. It was the first joke that Ginny had made regarding her in a long time.

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Even an Auror had to get thrown off every once in a while. Ophelia could officially classify herself as thrown. What threw her most was the fuzzy feeling of contentment pervading her mind.

She found herself in what looked like the old ETA library. The ceiling was covered in clouds and the floor was shadowed by a rolling fog that eddied against her legs like a river from the force of an unseen wind. The bookshelves reached up from the fog into the clouds. Books that she had spent every scrap of free time not used up with Quidditch, playing chess with her best mates, and pulling enough pranks to awe the Weasley twins; books that she had come to know as well as she knew that she knew nothing about potions. Now she couldn't place a single title – _How to Hobnob with Hags_, _Vacationing with Vladimir the Vampire_, and _Fairly Funny Fairies_ hadn't ever been in stock when she was in school. Everything looked as if it had been colored in with colored chalk. Ophelia felt almost too real, like a live human in a cartoon movie.

Over the years, Ophelia had seen a lot of things and she had read about quite a few more. So it was both her fortune and her misfortune to be almost entirely sure where she was.

"Damn. I'm dead."

"Actually, no, you're not."

Ophelia turned around dreamily. There stood Pascaline.

Um ... there _floated_ Pascaline.

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Plants covered every surface of the greenhouse. Tentacles waved and snapped, and flowers bloomed and shrunk back into buds every few seconds. Brilliant shades of vegetation challenged the usual color spectrum for that type of thing. Vines were as likely to be pink as petals were to be green.

Hermione couldn't help being impressed. Neville, in an attempt to prove his worth as a professor, had spent his holidays dragging a grumpy Hannah all across the world looking for rare plants. He now had so many varieties that even Hermione, with all her reading and her Outstanding in Herbology, hadn't even heard of a few of them. Neville was a spectacular professor.

Evidently, she was not the only one who thought so.

"His is the best class by far, everyone agrees, he's an absolutely brilliant professor, you know. He never makes you feel like some stupid kid, like McGonagall does sometimes and how Madame Pomfrey always is. And he was telling us about some ball you had in his fourth year and now we might have one thanks to him ... I've never learned so many things before, and it's all thanks to ..."

Much to Hermione's relief, Nadia quieted with a blush when Neville walked into the room. She couldn't help being forcibly reminded of a certain other schoolgirl that had looked the same way at an empty-headed DADA professor not so long ago. It made her want to cringe and laugh at the same time.

A boy slipped in behind Neville in such an unassuming manner that Hermione didn't see him right away. Once she had, she wondered that she could've ever missed him. He stuck out like a weed in a garden. Obviously Nadia's age and yet as tall as Neville's shoulder, he looked like a piece of taffy, pulled and pinched and bullied until stretched to its limits. His arms hung by his side like string beans with puppy paws attached at the end. A thin nose divided a long face in two, and the symmetry was unsettling. The only thing remotely attractive about him was his sleepy brown eyes. They glinted with a blinding intelligence.

Neville's voice brought her back from her inspection of the odd youth he seemed to have dragged along like a magnet with a nail. "I'm so sorry Hermione, but I don't have it. I even checked Sprout's old records. Nothing. Those healers have really outdone themselves this time. They should be able to find their own ingredients, instead of sending you out to do it."

"Paravati has been helping a lot lately. She knew I knew you, thought you could help," Hermione replied in clipped tones. Neville was just frustrated that he couldn't do more. He couldn't possibly know that her stomach had dropped with a sloshy sort of plop to the floor. He didn't have it ... Where could she look now?"

As if reading her mind, Neville hurried on. "I've got quite a few contacts with other Herbologists, though. I'm sure someone's heard of that herb before. I'll find it, alright?" He sighed. "Is Ophelia so bad off?"

"They kept saying she just needed time to wake up on her own. Now her organs have stopped working and nobody knows why."

"Ophelia is one of the people, isn't she?"

Nadia, Neville and Hermione turned to the boy still standing off in the corner. He shimmered with intensity.

"Professor Longbottom hasn't been giving any tutoring sessions after hours for a couple months now. He's gone three times a week. Sometimes a partner will meet him at his door. I recognized them all from the books of Voldemort's downfall." He held up his fingers to check them off. "Luna 'Loony' Lovegood. Seamus Finnigan. Katie Bell." He looked up at Hermione. "And now, one of the Golden Trio. Hermione Jean Granger, the cleverest witch in her year, best friends with Ron Bilius Weasley and Harry James Potter. Every single one a member of the famed Dumbledore's Army and fought in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Will!" Nadia shrieked breathily, her hands flying to her face.

Neville blanched. "You've been watching my room?"

Ah. This was the infamous Will of Nadia's stories. He was ignoring the other two and instead focused intently on Hermione.

"I don't think Luna would appreciate the nickname," she told him.

Nadia moaned from between her fingers.

Will smiled. "The book gave it to her, not me. I actually think she's quite brilliant. Did you hear about the dragon species she found? Only two feet tall! And everyone kept seeing it and thinking it was a baby Greenback this whole time."

"Yes, well, Dean was less than thrilled when she starting raising one in their broom shed." Hermione couldn't help grinning. Will craved knowledge in a very off-putting sort of way. She imagined he had been called a know-it-all more than once. If he was anything like her, though, he didn't mean any harm from asking. Besides, Nadia didn't seem to have bad taste.

"You arse!"

Possibly bad language, though.

"I didn't know what he wanted, Hermione." Neville went from apologetic to stern in a blink of an eye. "From what I heard, he was having desperate trouble with his essay on the moral repercussions of killing the Mandrake."

"Not as much as I let on, Professor."

"Prat."

"It's alright." Hermione gazed calmly at Will; he dropped his guiltily. "Now I know why McGonagall was always so upset when we figured out her secrets. Look, we are up to something but it very important that you tell _no one_.

"What about the other professors?" Nadia asked, curious enough to give over insulting Will.

"Especially not them."

Will puffed out his thin chest. "We won't tell them if you let us help."

"You won't tell anyone if they use a Memory Charm on you," Nadia remarked waspishly.

"Like you don't want it." It was as if Will split into two people – the person who calmly cracked open a secret organization, and the teenager bickering with his best friend.

Hermione laughed softly. "You have no idea ... you remind me so much of us. The, erm, the _trio_, I suppose."

The two friends beamed.

"Look. There are some things – some charts, a few maps, a lot of filing. I find it time consuming and a little boring, but I imagine you'll enjoy it more, seeing as it'll land you a bit more in the thick of things." Her brows snapped together. "But under no circumstances are you to think of doing anything more than that. I began fighting a war even younger than you are now. Because I had no choice. You try to do the same thing and a Memory Charm will be the least of you worries."

There was a general smattering of agreement before Nadia and Will scampered off into the mid-afternoon slush, chatting excitedly, apparently nervous that if they stuck around Hermione would change her mind and Obliviate them into oblivion.

"It's strange, isn't it?"

Hermione turned around to Neville. "What is?"

"Being an adult."

"You'd know, wouldn't you, professor?" Hermione sighed. Already she wondered if she'd given them too much of an opening. She only knew that the "You're children and must be protected" approach had never worked with her.

She shrugged it off as best she could. "I'm going to go visit Hagrid. You'll keep looking?"

Neville's face fell. "Hermione?"

"What?"

He rubbed his forehead and squinted his eyes uncomfortably. "There's something that I should tell you. Or something you should know."

"About Hagrid?"

"About Hagrid. You haven't seen him much in the last few months, have you?"

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"Hello, Pascaline! Are you dead as well?" Ophelia felt dreamily pleased. Death was a scary thing to face on one's own. Though she wasn't so much scared as ... mildly perturbed. With a head that was slowly throbbing it's way into a migraine.

"It is good to see you again," Pascaline replied gently.

Ophelia shrugged. "I thought I just saw you. But I'm glad you're here, too. We'll be dead together."

The French girl's laughter pealed out like silver bells. "Oh, Ophelia. I have told you that you are not dead."

"You don't have an accent," Ophelia countered.

"I don't?" Pascaline's brow furrowed. "This is your mind. I may have adjusted to fit in it."

"Well, I never did understand what you were saying half of the time, darling. Are you the one giving me a headache?"

Pascaline frowned. "You must understand how serious this is. That headache is your body calling out to you. To speak to me you had to become as close to death as possible."

"But I'm not dead?" Ophelia had begun trying to pick up one of the books. They became transparent as she touched them, her fingers floating through them like the colored bubbles she had played with in the summers in Duclid.

"Ophelia, you must pay attention," Pascaline begged, her round eyes filled with worry. "I have a message to relay to Hermione, and you are the only one who can give it to her."

Something chimed deep Ophelia. "Hermione?"

"Yes. Hermione."

A flood of images shook her brain. There was Hermione, reading _Hamlet_, perched delicately on the edge of a hospital bed – Ophelia's hospital bed. Another of Hermione half-heartedly setting up Ophelia's chess set on a table in the corner of the room; another, some time later, of her taking down the chess set, leaving the feisty queen piece on the bedside table. Hermione decorating the headboard with garland ... Hermione practicing charms in a chair by the bed ... Hermione fast asleep with her arm stretched across Ophelia's prone body...

And there were others. Randy drunkenly caroling around the room while Gloria, Harry, Ginny and Ron egged him on. Her parents speaking to Roland in the back of the room while Robin and Katherine stroked her hair and rested their hands on her shoulders.

Faiz standing over her as unreadable and strong as a mountain, his eyes even deeper and more unreadable than usual.

"Faiz," Ophelia whispered.

With a jolt, she was aware of where she was and exactly what it meant. Urgency coursed through her veins, clearing her brain and making the throbbing in her head turn into a pounding that made it painfully clear the pull of her body against the rolling current of death.

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"Hagrid! Hagrid! Come on, Hagrid! _I – can –see – your – light_ – HAGRID!"

When Hermione had first waded her way through the dirt-stained snow, she had been sick with worry. No one had heard from Hagrid in days and all Hermione could imagine were the thousands of horrible things that could've happened to him, or that he could've done to himself, locked up in his hut. She had rushed up to the door and had banged on it frantically until she heard a few mutterings coming from inside. When no one had come out, she'd begun cajoling Hagrid loudly, trying to sweet talk him out.

"Hagrid! I'm not going anywhere! It's cold!"

And it was. With her two drenched boots and the wind creeping into her coat and under her scarf, Hermione had been force to conjure her favorite bluebell flame. She'd been in front of Hagrid's door for almost an hour, and if she didn't leave soon, Ron might beat her to Knockturn Alley and leave without her again.

To make things worse, the flame was flickering out.

"Hagrid, that's it! You come out or ... or ... or I'll curse your door off." From within the hut, she heard a dog whimper, but still no sign of Hagrid. Hermione scrunched up her face. "Well, then. Fine! ONE – TWO – TH-"

With a boom that shook the woods behind her, the door burst open; the wind created by the force of wood hitting wall knocked her clear off her feet and sent her tumbling down into the snow.

A rumbling thunder shook the ground – Hagrid's footsteps. Without warning, Hermione was lifted up in the air by the back of her coat. She'd just gotten used to the sensation of being suspended ten feet or so in the air when a meaty hand began beating snow and dirt of her in large chunks. Then she was being carried into the hut. As she swung back and forth and feeling quite airsick, she spotted an overlarge wolfhound puppy loping around the room, his tail wagging eagerly, his cheerful gaze fixed on Hermione. As soon as she had been dropped down in a chair, the puppy threw himself at her. She couldn't help chuckling as her face, ears and bits of her hair were all given a thorough wash.

"Hello. And who are you?" She was rewarded with a suggestive wink from the puppy, followed by a decisive sneeze.

"Tha's Wolf," Hagrid informed her gruffly. His massive back was turned to her. He appeared to be making tea. "Fang passed on las' year. Wolf's a good enough dog, though. Real friendly."

Wolf yipped in agreement. He leapt down to the ground again and began to wag his tail in dramatic thumps against the floor.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid," Hermione said. Her chest had contracted painfully. Why hadn't Harry mentioned it? Why hadn't she asked?

He shrugged.

"I'm sorry ... I mean that I heard about Madame Maxime as well."

"Ah. I thoug' yeh migh'. Neville can't keep 'is damn mouth shut."

Hermione reached down to pet Wolf, because she simply had to be doing something else. "I couldn't believe it. She went off to the giants alone?"

At last Hagrid turned around. Hermione had to suppress a gasp. He looked his worst and that was saying a lot considering how Hermione had seen him. His hair was tangled more than usual; his eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep and other, less innocent causes, and his skin was pale beneath his beard. And he stank. Badly.

"Oh, Hagrid," Hermione lamented.

He trundled to the table carrying two cups of tea. "She though' she could change their minds, yeh know. Come outta hidin'. They killed 'er."

"They aren't all like Grawp, Hagrid," Hermione told him tremulously. "They aren't all ..."

"Ah know," Hagrid said quietly.

Wolf whined as she stopped stroking so that she could reach out a take Hagrid's knuckle, which was the biggest bit she could fit her fingers around. "I'm so sorry, Hagrid. She was so brave."

"Tha' she was." Hagrid looked up and seemed to really see Hermione for the first time. "Yeh shouldnta left, Hermione. We've missed yeh. Ron was fair broken up."

"I know." Her eyes drifted down to the table so she wouldn't see the pain laid bare and plain on his face.

"Ah don' know if yeh do." He shook his great head. "The three of yeh weren' meant teh be jus' two."

"Oh, dear." Hermione felt so young again. It was night at Hogwarts during her third year and she had come down to see Hagrid because Ron and Harry were still not speaking to her. Hagrid had always comforted her, had always defended her. She had let him down. "Hagrid, I never meant for it all to happen like this," she told him plaintively.

He laughed at her as if he hadn't laughed in a long time. "Ah know." After a pause, he added reflectively, "Ah've missed yeh, come to tha'."

A burn niggled under the bridge of her nose as tears tried and failed to reach her eyes. Sniffing loudly, Hermione tipped over her chair in her rush to get over to Hagrid. She threw her arms around his neck, at the right height to hug him, seeing as he was sitting and she standing. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Hagrid," she muttered into his beard. "I've messed it all up, haven't I?"

"If Ah know one thing abou' Hermione Granger," Hagrid remarked, "its tha' she can fix anythin'."

Hermione took her head off his shoulder so that she could see him clearly. "I don't know if I can this time. But I'm trying."

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"Faiz?" Pascaline was temporarily distracted. "Really? I did not know."

Ophelia, all the new awareness distracting her a hell of a lot, answered quickly. "Hermione doesn't even know. He definitely doesn't. What is the message?"

Pascaline shook her head. "I can't tell you."

Ophelia snorted. "That's not helpful."

"I must show you." Pascaline bit her lip. "It will hurt quite a lot."

"I've been hurt before. But before I go ..." Ophelia hesitated, than asked questions in rapid fire. "Is there a God? What is She like? What is the afterlife? What do we become? Do we ...?"

She stopped as a sharp jab in her head sent her down to her knees keening in pain.

"There is no time. I will miss you, my friend." Pascaline took Ophelia's head between her hands and bent down to kiss her forehead. Her lips passed through Ophelia's skin like mist. And then she was falling through mist and fog and darkness...

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Wind and snow tore at her as she pressed herself as close to the thestral's neck as she could. There was thrilling and terrifying about the slick back and the strong beat of the bat-like wings beneath her. At least this time she could see what was carrying her.

Hagrid had thought of it. After talking for almost an hour, she had realized that she was very, very late for her meeting with Ron. Outside, the wind had begun to roar in a way that shook the glass in the windows and sent Wolf into a barking frenzy. Hermione could Apperate as well as the next person, but the strength of those winds was going to throw her off course for sure.

"Wha' abou' thestrals?" Hagrid had asked.

"Thestrals fly, Hagrid," Hermione had pointed out. "I'll fall off. And it will take me a very long time to get to London."

Nonetheless, she began to think about it. As Hagrid eagerly bragged about their speed, she started imaging the kind of spells she could use to keep herself on the thestral's back.

Not to mention – not that she would ever admit it – it sounded like fun.

Her thestral (privately named "Fang Junior," another thing she would loathe to admit) was as quick as Hagrid had said. She had winged them up past the snow to break through the clouds in a matter of seconds. Hermione was able to enjoy her view of the newly risen moon for only a moment before they shot forward like an arrow from a bow. Bucked backwards, and then thrown forward to stick to the Fang's head, Hermione had to wrench her eyes shut to stop the wind from burning them. She stretched her fingers out and desperately clung to the bits of ratty mane she could find. And yet, in spite of all of this, if Hermione had ever been the type of girl to whoop, or possibly giggle, this would've been the time to do it. She knew why Harry loved flying so much ... even though she was still determined to Apperate whenever she could.

It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes, when she was just beginning to think that perhaps flying hadn't been the best idea after all because it was taking a while after all and she was getting really stiff, before her thestral broke back through the clouds. She could see London blooming between the swirling flakes and the smog covering the top of the city.

Fang dipped suddenly, and they went hurtling to the ground, Fang's mane now whipping against Hermione's arms. For the first time, Hermione began to feel queasy, as she finally opened her eyes only to see the tops of the London buildings pointing at her like needles as she closed in on them rapidly.

"Damn," she whispered hoarsely, ducking her head into Fang's neck.

It was over almost as quickly as it started. With a slight jolt Fang dropped down on the cobble stone street of Knockturn Alley.

Gingerly, Hermione lifted herself up from the crouching position she had been in through the whole flight and slid herself down to the ground. Fang let out a happy sort of cry and bent down to lap at her fingers. Laughing giddily, she stroked at her mane with the free hand.

"Hermione?"

Her head shot up to see Ron standing a few feet away from her. He was pale even considering the dusty lighting the lamps provided. He took a couple steps forward then stopped, his ears reddening. "Are you ... you're alright, aren't you?"

She nodded, gulping a little. "Yes, I'm fine. Fang and I got here faster than I thought."

"Fang?" The corner of Ron's mouth twitched as decided between being worried and amused.

Hermione smiled self-consciously. "I've just seen Hagrid." She peered through the snow at him. "Are _you_ alright?"

"No, I'm not." Ron shook his head, so anxious he forgot to be angry. "I always knew you were barking mad, but riding a thestral through a snowstorm? What is with you and airborne death? You used to even hate riding on the back of my broom."

"Brooms are made for one person at a time, Ron. At any rate, I used a charm to stay on." She patted Fang to keep herself from getting too excited. Because how pathetic was it to be happy that Ron was worried? About her?

Ron didn't look convinced in the least, but he moved on all the same. "Hagrid doing any better?"

"Maybe. He seemed a bit more cheerful when I left. You're going to her funeral?"

"Yeah." He shifted, uncomfortable.

As long as he was already feeling awkward. "Why didn't you leave without me?"

"Erm ... well, I ..." He was full on fidgeting now. "I had a question. About S.P.E.W."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"And," Ron continued, "maybe you were right. About talking."

Hermione fell over herself apologizing. "I know what I did was wrong. Especially dragging Harry into it and making him lie to you. I'm sorry." She was saying that far too much lately.

Ron shrugged. "S'alright."

Hermione nodded. "So. You wanted to talk about S.P.E.W.?"

Maybe this patrol wouldn't be so bad.

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Ophelia's eyes flew open.

_The whisper of the wind. It said something, a name, a name she knew ... how did Ophelia not hear it?_

She gasped in desperate breaths. Her fingers clutched at the covers. God, this was pain, this was real pain, this was torture...

_The curse hit her in the back and she fell. But she could hear. Those voices were so familiar. What were they doing? What had the wind said? She knew them._

"Ophelia? Ophelia!" Faiz was standing over her, trying to hold her down as she thrashed from side to side. Please, God, let her die from it. Her head would surely split in two any moment now. Nothing could stand that sort of pressure.

_She woke up entirely. She saw his face for a moment. It was so twisted that she could barely make it out. She knew him. The wind had told her. And then came the hand, blazing, at her face – and she was on fire, inside and out._

She screamed. It couldn't keep going. She couldn't survive this.

"Ophelia!" Faiz, his voice betraying more worry than she had ever heard. His hand caressed her face and with came cool relief that spread throughout her body and pieced her head back together.

Before she blacked out, it occurred to Ophelia that maybe she should go to church this Christmas. Or next Sunday. Whenever that was.

Just in case.

AN: All done. This so amazingly long and I had to do it twice. Ugh. I'm going to sleep, then to Williamsburg. If I don't answer your reviews right away, that would be why. My parents have never once gave a flying crap about the Fourth of July. Then I come home from college this year and BAM! Every little holiday is important and must be treasured. Oi. What can you do? I suppose it's better than spending it in the hospital. Or watching Project Runway reruns. Anyway. Happy Fourth, everybody! Love barbecue? Hate Bush? Review!


	17. Chapter 17

AN: Woah.

Anyone seen "The Dark Knight" yet? Please go. It's amazing. All those things they're saying about Heath Ledger? True. More than true. The plot is fantastic, the villain is odious, and Christian Bale is officially my favorite Batman.

What else do I have to "Woah" about? Two things. One, I went to Warped Tour. Fun! Way too hot, and water was far too expensive, but outside of that, extremely entertaining. Two, I found the TV show "Skins" on YouTube. Very awesome. I fell so hard for Chris and Jal, so I naturally cried all through the series finale. I'm now eagerly awaiting the beginning of the next season.

Now, here's the not-so-fun part. Eight reviews? Yes, I love you all for reviewing, and I don't mean to complain. But over a hundred people are alerted to this fic every time it updates. Eight out of a hundred? I'm just saying.

Anons:

_lily_ – I hope you enjoy this chapter some, then. I thought I should throw everyone a bone before I did that inevitable "big fight" and break everything done to pieces again. Heh.

_Ako_ – No problem. Sorry it's been so long and you're lost …

Ok, time to get on with the chapter.

Disclaimer: If I had the money, I'd own the Batman enterprise right now. JOKER RULES! In a sicko, psychopath sort of way, of course.

Water in his veins boiled at the sight of them. Every creature there shifted from side to side, cried distress calls, stomped, ruffled, and shook. This was the common

_Seaweed brushing against his leg, cool rushing across the protective bulbs of his eyes. It called to him still._

enemy. Nothing mattered to them but a cold consumption. All of the creatures here were detached to a certain degree. They were man's best friends to the terror coming.

_The peaceful path of a fish. Dolphins chattering about the change of the tide. Floating beside a whale to catch wisps of its deep, ponderous wisdom._

Black swarms of formless bodies. Flaps grew from their sides to balance them as they landed. The Master smiled a slow smile at them and greeted them with open arms. In return, they dipped forward

_A kingdom the likes of which the wizarding world could never have dreamed in their wildest fits of imagination. So clever were the seafolk that they had found a way to hide their precious palaces where no wizard could venture. The pressure of the depths would crush arrogant humans to nothing at all. Cold, cruel, clever, the people of the sea..._

in an imitation of a bow. The wolf-man stepped forward and jerked its head to them. After a pause, they formed inky insubstantial heads to nod sinisterly back at him. One reached out to touch the puppet man curiously. He screamed at the contact. It was e

_No home on the land, no home in the ocean ... banished and erased from memory..._

nough for him. He slipped through a crack of the wall and swam through the dirt to the watery tunnels he felt above him. Sounds of fear followed him and spurred his heels. The Master's power was great to keep his kinsmen in place. Revenge didn't justify working with them. Not them.

_A beautiful mermaid swirling around him. Her tail caught sunlight and flipped it back to him._

He scrabbled through the muck. Mud and earth broke through the call of The Master. Good. Wizards must be warned.

The Lethifolds had gathered.

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"I tried to tell him. 'George,' I said, 'that's about as stable as Umbridge's mental state.' Wouldn't listen. Stupid prat would've lost another ear if I hadn't knocked him to the floor in time. As 

it is, we have to start all over again and spend more of Kingsley's funds." Ron shuddered. "That's not something I really want to tell Kingsley right now."

Ginny shook her head. "What can you expect of George? He's an idiot."

"I expect him not to blow my head off," Ron retorted sullenly, taking a revengeful stab at his pudding.

Hermione was practically glowing. Since their abrupt truce, Ron had stopped avoiding her. True, he wasn't exactly seeking her out, but when she went to see him during lunch, he was still at his desk, and he longer ignored her during patrol. Tonight, he had even come to dinner at the Potters on the same night as her and hadn't brought George. Cautiously, in a very small part of her that was fragile as an eggshell, she had begun to hope again. She wouldn't even allow herself to name what it was that she hoped for. She just hoped.

Harry broke through her thoughts. "What's Kingsely got to be upset about? The Ministry's doing fine. Even if, you know, we are spending most nights banging our heads against a wall looking for Kregan. And friend."

"Well, he's suspicious, isn't he?" Ron explained darkly. "As long as he's known us? He _knows_ something's up, and he knows it has something to do with Kregan's 'mysterious disappearance.' He just doesn't what it is. You know Kingsley. He doesn't like being out of the loop."

The high was gone; Hermione was brought down to the conversation with a thump. She chewed on her lip and stirred her forgotten potatoes into a whirlpool. "That could be a problem. If anyone could figure this out, it's Kingsley."

"But would he?" Harry looked around for confirmation. When no one answered, he elaborated. "I mean, Kingsley won't like that we're keeping things from him, but he's hardly the type to stick his nose in our business. He'll wait until we come to him."

"And when we don't?" Hermione asked.

"He'll keep waiting.

"Y'know, I think Harry's right," Ron decided, swallowing a large chunk of pudding. Hermione and Ginny exchanged disturbed glances as they watched pudding glob move past his throat. "Anyone want seconds?"

Everyone hurriedly assured him that they were done.

For a little while the only sounds were that of Ron slurping up pudding in stomach-turning sort of way. The rest of them fell into the usual habit of sorting out the general problem on their own for a while. For her part, Hermione was stuck. Logically, she could see Harry's point. Kingsley had never been the person to tell them that they were too young or to bring in official help or something similarly idiotic. Even if he figured them out, he wouldn't tell anyone, and he certainly wouldn't interfere. The not-so-logical part of her brain was churning itself into a blind panic at the idea of the Minister of Magic getting involved. She had a long-standing tradition of distrusting Ministry authorities. Even now, a Ministry employee herself, she couldn't shake her prejudices.

Ginny didn't work at the Ministry, and she certainly knew Kingsley as well as the rest of them. Maybe she'd have a clear perspective. Hermione turned to ask her.

Harry and Ginny, it turned out, had obviously abandoned their solo thinking. They were whispering at each other frantically. Ginny looked especially earnest and her gestures were getting more and more violent.

Hermione saw Ron looking at her. He nodded at the bickering couple and pulled a face. She had to choke back a laugh.

A throat clear ended all previous communications. Ginny was glaring pointedly at a clearly defeated Harry. "We have something to tell you," she snipped.

Harry grinned. "Ginny's pregnant."

There was a prolonged pause.



"I'm going to be an uncle!" Ron whooped.

"Oh, Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, dashing around the table and flinging her arms around her friend in record time.

The annoyance melted off Ginny's face at once. "I told Harry we should tell you first."

Ron, who was busy clapping Harry on the back hard enough to send him face-first into his own pudding, couldn't help laughing. "Afraid of not telling Mum first?" he asked in a very understanding tone.

"Yes," came the muffled reply.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Coward."

"She can't kill you, you're her only girl," Harry said, remerging from his plate with bits of food stuck to his glasses and the end of his nose. "Besides, it's easier to tell everyone at once."

"Well, we have to ask these two something else." Ginny smiled at the two of them. "Will the two of you be godparents?"

"No," Ron and Hermione answered at once.

Harry and Ginny looked intensely affronted. Hermione hurriedly withdrew her arms from Ginny, whose face was a storm ready to break.

"Why?" Harry asked bemusedly.

There was a bit of muttering from Ron. Seeing that he had lost his nerve, Hermione explained for both of them. "We're so honored, Harry, Ginny - you know that we'd love to, really, it's just ... we'll be so close to all of your children anyway ..."

"It won't be any fair to play favorites, will it?" Ron picked up. "Unless you're only having the one."

Hermione finished apologetically. "It's best that we are the same thing to all and not too special to only one."

Privately, she was far more concerned with Ron's possible reactions to being a parent of any kind with her. She could see Harry had the same fear; he was looking at her, understanding etched on his face. If it'd been up to him, she knew, he'd have asked one at a time. Not that it would've changed her answer. Much.

"And who," Ginny asked, resigned and none too pleased about it, "should we ask?"

Hermione glanced over at Ron, who replied "George and Nessa. He'll be a far better godfather than mine. Uncle Bilius was funny enough, but he thought my name was Rob. And Nessa never feels like part of the family, being Muggle and all. She'll be dead chuffed."

Hermione could see Ginny relenting, but she had no time to be relieved. A Patronus in the shape of a beaver had scurried its way through the door and climbed up the table legs and settled itself next to the tea pot with an efficiency that belied its lumpy frame. "Miss Hermione Granger?" it asked the general dining party in a brisk female voice.

"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione told it uncertainly.

The beaver squared itself up importantly. "Miss Hermione Granger is to be informed that one Ophelia Danes has recovered from her magic-induced coma. Visiting hours are between eight and ten on weekdays, ten and eight on weekends. St. Mungo's thanks you for choosing them to help you with all of your magical maladies and mishaps."

With a sigh like wind through winter trees, the beaver disappeared.

Silver still sparkled over the table by the time Hermione had made it to the kitchen door. "Where are you going?" Ginny called.

"St. Mungo's," Hermione said, the door propped open on her foot.

"What about visiting hours?" Ron asked cheekily. "This is Saturday, and it's past eight."

Hermione said some very un-Hermione-like things about visiting hours. Then she disappeared with a crack.



The door had barely the time swing itself achingly shut before the other three diners had pushed their way through it and Disapperated after their friend.

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Ophelia had woken up once again by the time Hermione had barged past security and made her way up to the room. A tiny witch trailed after her, looking most displeased with recent developments. "You've got to wait, missy, d'ya hear? These aren't the correct visitin' hours. I don't care if you'd defeated Moldy Voldy yourself, you're not getting' in 'ere, and that's final. I say, you need …"

"Oi saayy," Ophelia repeated in a heavily slurred British accent. "Silly England people …"

"She has had a lot of potions for the pain," Faiz, who had stood up from his chair at Ophelia's beside to greet Hermione, explained in an undertone. "She is quite … happy."

Ophelia giggled.

"I can imagine." Hermione smiled tremulously at her friend. "Ope?"

"Herm!" Ophelia reached her arms out delightedly.

Hermione fell into them, sniffling. "I've missed you," she murmured into her friend's scentless hospital gown. "You've no idea how much."

"Love you, Hermy," Ophelia replied brightly, patting Hermione's frizzy curls gently.

She chuckled. "Love you, too."

"The Healers have said that she has made a full recovery," Faiz said quietly. Hermione dragged herself up to look at him, and couldn't help noticing he seemed … relieved.

"Have you been here since yesterday?" She looked him over and laughed. "Are you wearing the same clothes?"

Faiz just smiled serenely. There was no modification to his usual solid expression than a few new lines under his eyes.

"Faizy!" Ophelia cried. "I love you too, Faizy! You're so _adorable_ …"

"Those are the sort of things you'll regret saying later," Hermione told her, smiling. Her head was humming happily. "That's probably also the first time Faiz has been called adorable."

"Miss!" The tiny witch was not to be ignored.

Hermione turned on her, brows snapped together. "You've made yourself quite clear. May my friend stay, at least?"

"Ministry says she must 'ave a guard," the witch sniffed, apparently dubious in her belief that the Ministry could possibly understand the importance of St. Mungo's visiting hours. "He's cleared for th' night."

"Wonderful," Hermione commented dryly. "I suppose I'll go, then." She clasped Ophelia's hands warmly. "But I'll be back tomorrow. Alright?"

Ophelia looked up at her seriously. "Bring Harry."

There was something urgent in her eyes at that moment; however, they almost instantly reverted back to a potion-induced sheen. "See you tomorrow, Herm!"

Hermione exchanged looks with Faiz. He shrugged placidly. She allowed herself to be ushered off by the tiny witch, wishing desperately that Ophelia could've woken up during the usual visiting hours. It was as if, if Hermione left Ophelia for even a second, Ophelia would fall back down into whatever dark she had been in before and never come out again.

As she went out, she shook her head at the large group of people – Randy, Grace, Roland, the interrupted dinner party and a few robust-looking Americans – that had congregated at the end of the hall, waiting for a final word from Hermione that the tiny witch truly had the power to keep them out. They fell in dejectedly behind her, the witch heading them in a very sad parade.

"Tosser," Ron muttered rebelliously, then ducked his head behind the tall American boy in front of him when the witch turned back, her nose twitching dangerously.

"Visiting hours begin at ten! Now out with the lot of you!"



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"You've paired Angelina Johnson with herself."

"Have I?"

"And you've got Charlie Weasley working in London when he left for Romania last week, look …"

"I haven't!"

"Not to mention you've put Draco Malfoy down to work with Ron …"

"Will!"

"… which I'd only do if you want to kill Malfoy, Ron's not a fan and last time I heard, he's killed something like nine Death Eaters since he got his Auror status …"

"I never put Malfoy anywhere! I should play with your charts, see how you like it, I worked for hours on this, I did …"

It was a stroke of brilliance, Hermione decided happily, to put Will and Nadia in charge of the partner charts. Instead of dreading the writing and re-writing of several lists of patrol pairings, the teenagers would swap stories they'd heard of each person, or debate the chances of the Holyhead Harpies in an upcoming tournament (Will had become a rather big fan of the team since meeting Ginny, much to Harry's amusement and Nadia's chagrin), or bicker noisily while accidentally-on-purpose grazing knees under the table.

This seemed to be the case now. Nadia was waving her quill threateningly towards Will's charts and laughing as Will covered his neat work, scowling. She shut up rather quickly when Will took hold of her arm to save his lists. They stared at each other until some ink from dripped from the nib onto Nadia's sleeve. Then they broke apart, blushing madly, and resumed work in flurry of busy silence.

Ron looked over at them from his seat in the kitchen and laughed quietly. "What d'you reckon? Three years? Four? It took Hannah and Neville something like ten years, but Dean and Luna were sorted out in a month."

"I think it'll be a big moment," Hermione mused, pausing from her mark up of a map that was spread across the tiny table in front of her. She had to once again question Ophelia's taste – the thing was shaped like a cat, and was dotted with lurid pink dots the size of her fist. "Like Ginny and Harry. She won that Quidditch game and ran into his arms and …"

"Yeah, I don't need to remember that bit."

"They're married now, Ronald," Hermione scolded gently, returning to her map. "Don't you think that they …"

"Oi! That's my little sister you're talking about," Ron said, his nose wrinkled, all attention diverted from the little couple.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Hermione laughed. She glanced up at the large black dog clock on the wall and back at Ron. "We should probably get going. Harry's coming by, isn't he?"

"Should be here in a minute." They stood up simultaneously; Hermione rolled her map up as carefully as possible and slid it into one of the many makeshift bookshelves that peppered the apartment, while Ron stretched himself out from toe to fingertip, before shouting out at the students over the kitchen island. "You two! Can we leave you alone 'til Harry gets here or are you gonna start snogging all over the place?"

"Ron!" Hermione dragged him out of the flat so quickly that he narrowly missed being brained by the top of the doorjamb. The sounds of denial followed them down the hallway.

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_Weasley is our Queen_

_Weasley is our Queen_

_Her flying skills are supreme_

_Weasley is our Queen_



The song echoed dismally off the stones of the alley, making it seem far more sinister than necessary, even considering the dark and the stench of stale rainwater and garbage. Ron didn't seem to mind, though. He broke into a rousing second chorus right on the heels of the first.

_Weasley is our Queen!_

_Weasley is our Queen!_

_She is a fan's fondest dream_

_Weasley is our Queen!_

"Ron, it might help if you stopped singing."

"It might help if you stopped sending us to these dead-end allies. We must've run through London's whole stock by now." But he contented himself with a jaunty whistle instead.

Hermione sighed. "I didn't choose where Kregan decided to spend his spare time. But they are rather unpleasant, aren't they?"

Ron relented, stopping his musical efforts altogether to attempt to cheer her up. "Look, it's not so bad. See! You can even see some stars if you look straight up and crane your neck sort of funny." He chuckled and winked at her. "Fancy taking up Astrology? We could swap tea leaves, interpret each other's dreams, the whole bit."

A twinge of dread woke in Hermione at the thought of telling her dreams to Ron – setting aside any that involved him, there were always those that featured Gualtierro chasing her through a forest, his rank breath hot on her back – but she was able to roll her eyes in a convincingly derisive way. "The day I take up Astrology is the day Hagrid is finally convinced that the Skrewt he's hiding out in the Whomping Willow is truly a nasty piece of work that should be put down for the safety of Hogwarts, not to mention himself."

"C'mon, Hermione," Ron wheedled, wobbling slightly as he tried to keep looking at the stars and walk in straight line at the same time. "Trelawney was a stupid old bat, right enough, but Firenze was doing something real. Even if, y'know, I have no bloody clue what the hell it was he was doing …"

"You're being nice."

In her head, it had sounded quite casual. She'd been thinking of how and when to bring up Ron's new positive attitude for a while now. It had just never seemed the right time to say something and not disturb the shaky peace between.

Why she had decided that this was the right time, she had no idea. Because it hadn't sounded casual at all. It had sounded petulant and pathetic. Why a spell hadn't been invented yet to take back idiotic remarks, she would never know.

He swiveled around so quickly that he almost collided into a nearby wall. He did a mid-air pirouette in order to glare at her properly. "You say that like I'm not nice."

"Well, no. Not to me. Not lately." Hermione looked up at the gritty-looking stars for inspiration. "Not that I mind. At all." She dropped her gaze to the cobblestone puddles. "Actually, could we forget I said anything?"

Ron chuckled. "No, it's alright. Ginny told me everything."

That certainly wasn't on the list of predicted responses. "Ginny?"

"Yeah, she told me about your flat and how it meant you wanted to be just friends …"

At first Hermione thought that the cold that had spread through her was because of what Ron had said. But then she realized two things at once.

Ron had stopped speaking rather abruptly.

And a grey fog had rolled across their path, in between the two of them, and thundered on behind them, covering everything in an eerie shade of black-blue. Meanwhile, the night sky above them continued to glitter unhindered.

The air around her froze and then dug into her skin, turning her very veins into ice. "Dementors," she puffed into cold.



"A lot of Dementors," Ron confirmed gravely.

Terror befell Hermione as all around her the wind rattled with their breaths. She'd never been good with Dementors … and just now, God, just now she wouldn't be able to think of a happy thought if her parents had popped up in front of her, as happy and healthy as the day she had left on that first red train …

They glided through the fog as elegantly as dancers. Tattered robes billowed in a nonexistent wind; their tips were lost in the fog that billowed from them like smoke.

One Dementor, the most prominent of the gathering, reached a single skeletal hand out. It brushed Hermione's sleeve oh-so-gently.

She was falling down, down, down … there wasn't anything for her anymore … no family, no love, no friends … would all of them stop screaming, please, please stop screaming, she couldn't help, no, no, couldn't help, and she wanted so much to just be given peace, to curl up by herself and go to sleep and never hear them screaming again … why did it have to be up to them all the time … she just wanted some sleep … that's all, just some sleep …

"Hermione!"

And she was wrenched back into the real world with the feel of Ron's fingers digging into her skin.

"Hermione!" he called again, shaking her like a doll, his eyes only slighted clouded. His hands were clammy.

"They're dead, Ron," she told him, trembling. "They're all dead."

"I heard them, too. I know," he told her, jerking her away from the Dementor and pulling them both closer to the shoddy wall beside them.

"No you don't. They were fine before they had me. Why did I have to be a witch, Ron?"

Ron pulled his wand out. "I'm sorry, Hermione, but this really isn't the time." He brandished his wand determinedly. "Expecto Patronum!"

Hermione shuddered and looked into herself. A happy thought.

Ron's Patronus was weaving and bounding through the Dementors, driving them back, but it wasn't enough. She felt Ron's heart beat quick as a rabbit's from where he held her close to him, protecting her. Pathetic, that's what she was being. A happy thought.

The Patronus … did it look a bit odd?

A happy thought.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!

Warmth blazed inside of her and erupted from her wand. Her silver otter skipped on the air to join Ron's Patronus. Together they herded away the Dementors and chased away the fog, sending it all flying back to wherever it had appeared from. Then they swam back, flipping about in midair, to join their wizard and witch before dissolving to light, then to nothing.

Two perfect silver otters.

In perfect sync, Ron and Hermione turned to each other. All the fluttery good feelings that Hermione had experienced drained away at once. There was something immensely terrible about seeing Ron stripped bare before her like that. He looked so betrayed.

"Ron." She wanted to say that they could pretend she hadn't seen. She wanted to say that she had thought it looked like a terrier in dark lighting. More than anything, she wanted to pick him back up again and make him into the arrogant arse he'd been the last few weeks.

But he Disapperated before she could say anything at all.

AN: Ok, it took three weeks of stops and starts to finish this, so I must apologize with any mess I've made of it. I'm still getting back into the fanfic groove. And if anyone's confused (which, honestly, you should all be a little), don't you worry. Answers will be forthcoming. Love? Hate? Review!


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